


Red and Blue

by Archaya



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Bara Sans (Undertale), Big Sans (Undertale), Blindfolded not in the fun way, Blood, Domestic Violence, Ecto-Penis (Undertale), Ecto-Tongue (Undertale), Everyone Has Issues, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/M, Fighting Ring, Fluff, Guess it could be seen as Angsty?, Hope ya don't mind, I Have My Own Soulmate Dynamic Headcannon Stuff, I have a lotta head cannons actually I need help, I'll update tags as I figure them out, I'm why we can't have nice things, Kidnapping, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Minor Character Death, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Touching, Panic Attacks, Police, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Racism, Reader has a heart of gold, Reader-Insert, Sans (Undertale) Has Issues, Sexism, So many tags, Soulmates, Swearing, Undercover Missions, Underfell Papyrus (Undertale), Underfell Sans (Undertale), Undertale Monsters on the Surface, Undertale Skeletons in Heat, Violence, Will definitely have smut, Your boss is an asshole, monster on human violence, monster on monster violence, reader has a nickname, reader is female, reader is unnamed, skelesinning, slow burn gonna slow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2020-10-26 13:26:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 57,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20742929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archaya/pseuds/Archaya
Summary: Papyrus and his Detective partner (you) have to solve a missing persons case. It turns into a huge undercover operation where you still have to rescue the missing person: Sans!Along the way there's shenanigans, swearing, sex, misunderstandings, bad puns, and you fall in love with your spiky partner's brother.





	1. Entry 1: Background Data

**Author's Note:**

> New story, who dis?  
Couldn't get Underfell Sans outta my mind, so now I'm shipping him with you! Have fun sinnin' my friends~

“HAVE YOU PICKED UP THE PIZZA YET?”  


Papyrus’ shrill shout had you holding the phone away from your ear. Sometimes he remembered to use his inside voice, sometimes he forgot. Clearly he’d forgotten.  


“Not yet, Boss, they’re a little packed right now.”  


He grumbled, thankfully at a much lower volume. You didn’t want to have the poor, overworked cashiers hear his vitriol.  


“Order 3-6-2!”  


“That’s us, Boss.”  


You did your best to be chipper as you showed the twenty year old your Detective credentials and handed her more than enough cash to cover your bill. You always used the public servant discount so that more of the money went as tip to the people who worked there. It seemed to make them a little happier.  


“Alright Boss, getting in the car now.”  


“SO YOU SHOULD BE HERE IN FIVE MINUTES AND THIRTY SIX SECONDS.”  


“Boss,” you sighed, “I took my personal car. Not the cruiser. No lights.”  


He grumbled. Getting the pizza home on Pizza Night was the only time he abused those flashing red and blues.  


“I’m Still Timing You.”  


“‘Course, Boss.”  


You settled into the custom leather seats of your pride and joy. You cranked the engine, enjoying the way it roared to life. Your custom, personally assembled, Hell on four wheels.  


“Hear that Boss? I’ll be leaving.”  


You plopped the pizza in the passenger seat, carefully buckling it in.  


“SOUNDS LIKE ABSOLUTE GARBAGE! UNREFINED! TASTELESS!”  


You knew it was all in good fun. He didn’t like how noisy your engine was, preferring the softer purr of his new sports car. Which was fine. Whatever floats your boat and finds your lost remote. You grinned and revved the engine once more before hanging up, knowing it irritated him. Then you buckled yourself up, carefully securing the five point racing harness before easing out of the parking lot.  


You drove carefully. You weren’t on duty and you had pizza in the front seat. Not even those hopped up little Hondas could get you to rev your engine. It was Saturday, you weren’t going to really mess with the integrity of your engine tonight. You would have maintenance to do first thing tomorrow and you didn’t want to risk a single thing. You had a Reaper to beat.  


You pulled into your parking spot, body practically vibrating. You wiggled with excitement and snatched up your cheesy, greasy treasures. One box for him, one box for you. You practically bounced to the door. He’d left it unlocked in anticipation of your arrival.  


The movies were stacked on the coffee table, plates were set out, a bottle of wine was open. Neither of you were fans of beer and he had the absolute best taste in wine so you always let him choose. You toed off your sneakers as he called from the other room, loud and somehow growly.  


“IT TOOK YOU FOUR MINUTES LONGER THAN IT SHOULD HAVE!”  


You didn’t answer. You knew him well enough after six years of being ‘together’ that he was just being a dick. He was a stickler for punctuality and every weekend was sacred. Monday through Friday you two would slog through paperwork, cases, crimes, blood, bodies, and fucked up bullshit. You two worked hours that could make anyone in retail or customer service faint and those guys were tough. Saturday and Sunday were days you two had made yours, personal and necessary.  


Being a Detective in general was hard enough, being one in New Ebbot City was suicide by paperwork. You needed this escape. You plopped the pizza boxes in their usual places: his on the left, yours on the right. You always covered his blind spot. It was a habit. He emerged from one of the rooms in his silk pjs.  


“GO, I’LL GET THE WINE POURED.” He shoo’d you away with a clawed hand.  


You laughed and shuffled off to change into your pajamas. The ritual put you at ease. Shorts, tank top, clip hair up, search for slippers that somehow always find their way under your bed, then shuffle back out. He’d already dished out the pizza and poured the wine. You settled into the plush leather couch you’d gone halvesies on a few years back and plopped your feet on the coffee table.  


His red eye lights focused in on your slippers like lasers and you stuck your tongue out. Anyone else would quake in fear of your roommate. Only you could sass the eight foot tall lanky skeleton Monster and get away with it. For all his sharp features and pointy bits he was a big old softie who just wanted someone to take care of and trust. You wiggled your slippers smugly.  


“It’s Saturday, Boss, no rules, remember?” You taunted, knowing he hated that he’d agreed to it, even as he secretly enjoyed it.  


He grumbled and put the first movie on. It was a comfortable silence as you two dug into your dinner for the night. He really wasn’t a fan of commentary. Which blowed because you were. You loved laughing, expounding on jokes--if there were any--or just talking in general. In between movies you tucked your feet up on the couch to spare yourself further dirty looks.  


“Hey Boss, family night still on tomorrow?”  


You secretly hoped it was. You loved when he had his ‘family’ over. It really was just a day when Undyne and Sans dropped by. Never at the same time because apparently they couldn’t stand each other. But it was a day you spent out of the house and you strangely enjoyed it. You two spent every second together. Hell sometimes you slept in each other’s rooms.  


“YES, UNDYNE IS BRINGING HER SOULMATE OVER. SANS WILL BE LATE AGAIN, HE ALWAYS IS.”  


You nodded and murmured some sympathetic nonsense. He was so uptight about his brother’s tardiness. He was uptight in general but when it came to Sans he was even moreso. You had to wonder why; their relationship was strained at best, wouldn’t he be kinder towards his brother in order to foster a better relationship?  


“YOU KNOW, YOU DON’T HAVE TO SKIP OUT EVERY SUNDAY. YOU COULD STAY AND MEET MY… FAMILY.”  


You smiled sweetly at him. He really was a big teddy bear under all the edgy-spiky-bravado. You patted his bare hand.  


“I know, Boss. But it’s your family. I’d only be a barrier between you and them.”  


You didn’t want to add in that you had your own plans every Sunday. They weren’t exactly legal activities and you definitely didn’t want to hurt his feelings by admitting you made plans that didn’t include him. You were his surrogate family. You poured more wine while he popped in the next movie. This one was more your speed: full of crude humor. It was a superhero movie, which surprised you; it was packed full of swearing and obscene violence.  


“THIS MOVIE WAS RIDICULOUS AND THE COMEDY WAS POOR.”  


He had been immediately disinterested but allowed the film to finish because of how thoroughly you had enjoyed it.  


“I think it was great! I’m keeping that one!”  


You snatched the case from the pile. You two always separated the movies into yours and his at the end of the night but you _wanted_ that one.  


“YOU WOULD GET ALONG WELL WITH MY BROTHER. THAT’S THE KIND OF LOW-CLASS SWILL HE WOULD ADORE.”  


While it was spoken with disdain on his skull, there was a hint of fondness in his voice. No matter how poorly he spoke of his brother it was very clear he loved him. There were just years of dysfunction layered over it. It’s why he saw a therapist and had arranged Family night. Six years ago, they were living together and you were just his patrol partner. And he hated you! Now? You were pretty much platonic soulmates and he had sort of mended the bridge between himself and his brother.  


“Maybe one day we’ll meet. He needs to come over on a Saturday or something. Join us for Pizza night.”  


You wouldn’t mind the mysterious skeleton crashing your sacred night.  


“HE ALWAYS HAS DATES ON SATURDAYS.” He growled, clearly irritated.  


“Are they not nice dates?”  


You had to admit you were intensely curious about what kind of guy your partner’s brother was. Papyrus always complained about his brother’s slovenly behavior, tardiness, alcoholism, and apparently the guy was a slut. He’d complained heavily that every Saturday Sans would bring home some new floozie and spend all night making a racket.  


“YOU KNOW DAMN WELL THEY’RE NOT. NICE DATEMATES DON’T HAVE DADDY KINKS.”  


“Oh, Boss, don’t kinkshame. Different strokes for different folks.”  


He narrowed his sockets at you, trying to find the innuendo in your statement. It was there, just more unintentional than he would believe if he noticed it. He let up his intense gaze and returned to putting in a new movie. This one was a romcom, a favorite genre for both of you. Papyrus liked to pick apart how the technique was wrong, you laughed at the dick jokes.  


“YOU HUMANS HAVE NO CLUE HOW TO TELL A DATEMATE YOU ADORE THEM.”  


“And Monster’s have better techniques? Pray tell, how would you woo the person of your dreams?”  


You were two bottles in and far from giving a shit.  


“YOU SIMPLY TELL THEM. PLAYING GAMES LIKE THAT JUST LEADS TO CONFUSION!”  


“Boss, not everyone’s got the bravado you do. Some people are too shy to just spill their _guts_.”  


His sockets lowered to half mast in a very unamused glare. Sometimes he really didn’t appreciate your jokes. Your shit eating grin told him you didn’t care very much.  


“I’m Glad You’re Doomed To Never Meet My Brother. You Two Would Be The Death Of Me.”  


His mutterings were met with boisterous laughter.  


“Aw, Boss, I didn’t mean to get under your _skin_ that bad.”  


He tossed a pillow at your face, upending your wine glass. That made him laugh, shrill and raspy, and you adored it all the same. His laugh was getting more and more rare these days. You’ve only really heard it on Saturdays lately. A knock at the door interrupted your gigglefest. Papyrus went to answer it while you cleaned up the wine.  


A deep, low growl came from the door. You turned your head; Papyrus’ body blocked the entirety of the door and you couldn’t make out any words. As nosy as you were, and you were a Detective so you were inherently nosy, you decided not to pry. Papyrus was a lot of things: a busybody, a playboy, a neat freak. But he wasn’t secretive. So you’d wait and he’d probably bitch about whoever was at the door.  


You wiped off the couch with a special leather cleaner when you were goosed in the side by Papyrus’ clawed phalanges.  


“Oh! Boss! You’re _claw_-ful!”  


He pinched harder because of that, earning him a squeal of laughter. You retaliated with a pillow to the skull. He let loose another chuckle and you two amicably collapsed on the now clean couch. Another movie, this one boring to both of you. Murder-mysteries weren’t as fun when you actually lived it. It wasn’t long before you both passed out on the couch. It was larger than normal to fit your larger than normal roommate. A figure let itself into the apartment, dropping something on the kitchen table before spotting your entangled forms.  


A growl filled the air, low and dangerous, but it didn’t wake either of you. Clawed fingers flexed above your sleeping face for a moment before the figure moved away and tossed a blanket over both you and Papyrus. Then they were gone, locking the door behind them.


	2. Entry 2: Abduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans POV so beware!

Sans watched the sky rake blue and purple fingers through a pink and orange backdrop. Stars twinkled in that periwinkle twilight. Actual, magnificent, brilliant stars, not just helicopters. Even after years, a decade almost, on the surface in a city as shitty as New Ebbot, there was nothing that compared to a sunset. He inhaled cherry flavored tobacco, the cigar glowing and crumbling. More smoke joined the smog that cast a grey tint to the city below.  


His cell phone buzzed with a text. It was from an unknown number with coordinates. He flicked his cigar towards the city, the smoldering tip separating from the stump. He blew out his last puff and took another moment to enjoy the early fall breeze dancing over his skull. He loved the fall. Hell he loved most seasons. Living in Snowdin had been literal Hell, cold and miserable. Experiencing milder versions and actual change was great. But fall was his favorite and if that made him a Basic Bitch ™ then fine, pass the pumpkin spice, bitch.  


He sauntered back to the black Charger he drove. It had nothing on his true love, his motorcycle, but Sunday was car night and he never missed car night. He tugged on his gear before swapping his plates for falsies and taking a safe route to the location he’d been sent. 7 p.m was shift change, easily the safest and most dangerous time to be in New Ebbot, especially if you were about to do something illegal. Cops were heading home, if you timed it right you could get away with murder. But nurses shift changed at the same time, so you could wind up murdered if you had poor timing, too.  


The location was just another abandoned parking lot by another abandoned building. New Ebbot was full of places like this: rundown forgotten concrete behemoths. The Coordinators were already there, their disguises much like Sans’ own. Motorcycle helmet, covered from neck to toe in color coordinated clothing. If you wanted to race, you had to follow the rules, and the Coordinators set those rules years ago.  


The rules were simple: Pay your fee, cover yourself completely, don’t use your real name, and don’t bring attention to it. Rules he could live by. He sauntered out of his car, the first racer to arrive, as usual, and went to their sign up sheet. He handed them his entry fee, used his race name, and went back to leaning against his car. He was tempted to light another cigar, his magic feeling staticky. Like it was anxious.  


Two other racers arrived, one of them he recognized. Even with all of their rules about hiding their features, some racers were like himself, regulars. Which meant they could be easily identified by other racers. The gunmetal and cobalt Mustang that pulled in was his long time frenemy. A grin twisted his mouth, vicious and eager. He loved racing her.  


The other racer was decked out in all green and his car was one Sans’ hadn’t seen on the circuit before. His fingers twitched with the desire to light up. They paid their fee and joined Sans in waiting for the other drivers.  


“Hey Reap!” The female racer called to him, her voice slipping through his helmet to settle along his bones. She was the sweetest temptation for him.  


“witch. ready ta lose?”  


“You’re gonna lose this time around, big boy.”  


The banter was usual for them. He’d started racing on car night after a suggestion from one of his brothers at the MC he was part of. He’d met the Witch there, four years ago, when she had been an undefeated street racer. He quickly broke her streak and they’d had a ferocious rivalry since. It was something that helped him get through the week.  


“so, what’s ya name, greenie?”  


The object of his twisted affections turned to the newcomer, trying to see through her tinted visor most likely. Sans noticed her more than the newbie, barely registering the fresh meat’s introduction.  


“Streak’s what they call me in the lower circuit.”  


“Witch, all car circuits.”  


“reaper, car and motorcycle.”  


“You race bikes?” The newbie sounded awestruck.  


“‘course. big guy like me, right at home on a harley.” His grin was audible.  


“Ppppffffft Harley? Loud and rough. Real riders have Ducatis. Handle better, more torque.”  


“ya’ve neva raced someone like me, kid. in the right hands any bike is a winna.”  


He could feel her amusement. His harsh Brooklyn accent made him stand out, the low gravelly register of his voice would make him easy to pick out of a line up. It made him a liability in these races. If anyone else had accents they hid them. He couldn’t, he’d tried to lose the accent in order to fit in better when Monsters had emerged all those years ago but it stuck around like a bad one night stand.  


“Don’t mind him, Streak, he’s got an ego bigger than an engine block.” Witch patted the newcomer’s shoulder and Sans almost growled.  


A blue Impala pulled in, the rider in all blue, and Sans felt his grin grow. At least now he’d have someone to shoot the shit with that wouldn’t get under his skin. He almost chuckled at his own pun. Witch twisted to wave at the blue racer. The movement brought Sans’ attention to her, his eye lights shrinking and dilating quickly. She hadn’t zipped her black and silver leather jacket up all the way. Her delicate neck and collar were exposed and a tastier sight he’d never seen.  


“Hey, Fleek! Got new blood!”  


“Hell yeah!” The blue rider punched the air. “I won’t be the last one across the line now!”  


Laughter fell from her lips, music to Sans’ auditory holes. His bones and magic hummed in appreciation and he was glad that his black leather coat kept her from being able to hear it.  


“Where’d you get the job done on your helmet?” Streak pointed to the crimson skulls painted across Sans’ helmet.  


“can’t tell ya.”  


“Oh, let me guess, if you did you’d have to kill me?”  


Sans let out a low, rumbling chuckle. His eye lights focused on Witch, watching her shiver a little. Her response to him had him wanting to sink his teeth into that delicate patch of exposed skin.  


“nah, jus’ don’ wan’ my hookup ta get too busy ta do shit fer me.”  


More chuckles. Sans had a knack for getting people to laugh, even when they didn’t want to. It’s what kept him employed and laid.  


“I know a decent guy,” Witch read off the shop info to the newbie. “He did the Broom. Not as good as whoever did Reap’s work, but he’s an ass who won’t give up his plugs.”  


Her teasing tone did things to Sans that he’d rather not examine. The wind blew again and he wished he hadn’t had to wear this helmet, even though it kept him safe. Through the air slots her scent wafted and the leather buckles at her collar jingled. She noticed that her coat wasn’t zipped all the way and laughed.  


“When were you guys gonna tell me that my fly was down?”  


“When your dick flopped out.” Fleek joked easily as he joined them, only catching Witch’s question.  


It was fortuitous that Fleek had joined; it gave the other racers someone else to concentrate on for a second. Sans had been transported through time for a moment with that intoxicating scent. Thunderstorms and wild flowers. He remembered Papyrus coming home smelling like that six years ago. Before the changes began, before Papyrus started seeing a therapist, before family night. Before _her_.  


“You’d just be jealous it’s bigger than yours.” She shot back as she zipped the jacket, sealing the scent inside. The damage was done, he knew who she was now, and it made this so much worse.  


“We really gonna compare sizes?” Streak jerked his thumb back at his vehicle. “Think I’ve got ya all beat.”  


Immediately they began arguing over engine size, bore size, curb weight, whatever they thought mattered to shave seconds off their time. Sans remained silent, his eye lights smoldering and pinned to Witch. _Jimmi._ He knew her nickname, he knew her address, he knew what she looked like. He _wanted_ her. He’d wanted her forever but she was Papyrus’ roommate, his partner, his datemate. Or at least, Sans thought she was his datemate. He’d come home smelling of her for years, she’d gentled him, tamed the angry lone beast Papyrus had once been.  


If it hadn’t been for her Pap would never have reached out and tried to mend his relationship with Sans. If it wasn’t for her Papyrus would never have made friends. If it wasn’t for her Sans wouldn’t be burning and shivering and confused. He wanted to keep bantering, flirting, and dreaming of her. He wanted to wipe her from his life.  


It was another blessing as a purple racer pulled up in a lowered Nissan. His figure was thin, his engine whiny, and he was easily the most annoying of all the racers Sans knew. Streak clearly had an ego, Sans would admit to having a fairly large ego, but this guy would take the cake.  


“Naga!” Witch waved at the last arrival.  


“Ey, my dude!” Fleek gave him a playful salute.  


“Better late than never, right?” Naga held his hands out in a helpless gesture. Then he jogged over to the Coordinators to finish his entry.  


“Gang’s all here.” Witch joked, before jabbing Sans’ arm with her elbow. Bone against bone contact, even when cushioned by leather jackets, wasn’t pleasant. She rubbed at her elbow, a chuckle escaping her.  


“Ready to eat my dust, Reap?”  


“as if. yer gonna burn out yer pretty eyes on my tail lights.” Sans purred.  


“You two! Shelve the foreplay, let’s get to fuckin’!” Fleek clapped them both on their arms before turning to go back to his vehicle.  


Witch patted his shoulder before she left and his bones tingled from the contact. He got in his car and lined up, his gloved phalanges tapping at the gear shifter as the other racers did the same. Engines revved and cars jerked. Sans felt his magic surge in response. His eye lights skimmed his rear view mirror to find Witch. Her Mustang was behind and to the left of his Charger. His hand flexed against the shifter as his emotions threatened to pull him into a head space that would definitely cost him the race. He wanted to pull her from the car and kiss her. He wanted to drag her back to her apartment and make her apologize to Papyrus for philandering.  


A Coordinator pulled a white bandana from a pocket as they took their place between the front two vehicles. More engines revved and he glanced back at Jimmi’s car. Smart racers knew better than to rev uselessly. It would affect the launch, the integrity of the engine; it was a novice move. Neither Sans nor Witch were revving.  


They dropped the cloth and then he heard the roar of the Witch’s engine over the sound of the others. Clearly she’d made some improvements. He grinned and launched his own vehicle, quickly outpacing the others. The route was a straight shot to the Mountain and then back via a few winding back roads. The runner had wanted to keep attention to a minimum; no one traveled to the mountain anymore.  


He weaved through the other racers, overtaking them with a few easy jerks of his steering wheel, leaving just two others ahead of him. Witch-- _Jimmi_\-- was in the lead. For now. She never got to stay there long with him around. They edged each other out, running neck and neck, through curve after dangerous curve. He hadn’t activated his magic yet. He enjoyed chasing her down, thinking about how her adrenaline was pumping, how she’d flex her hands against the wheel, how she’d be breathing heavily. She was the perfect prey; she thought she was a predator until she faced him.  


She started to pull away at the bottom of the mountain. The route curved sharply to the left, and he knew she’d have to go wide in order to maintain speed. His magic tingled, casting crimson light over his hidden interior. Time seemed to slow, he tracked her movements with his eye light, his reactions so much faster than hers in this moment. He drifted through the turn at the perfect moment while she had slower reflexes, resulting in him straightening out before she did. He pulled ahead, gaining those precious few seconds he’d need to win.  


Pulling across the makeshift finish line moments ahead of her was sweet. And gloating was even sweeter. She slammed her door closed behind her, approaching like a rain cloud, while Sans just leaned against the side of his vehicle.  


“oh, did i win again?” His coy tone only seemed to goad her.  


“I swear, you’re not human.” She accused him, although there was no venom in her voice. _oh, if only you knew sweetheart._  


“sounds like someone’s salty.” He chuckled heartily down at her, secretly enjoying how small she was compared to him. If only he could see her face. He knew what she looked like, but damn he’d love to see her all flustered and frustrated and looking at him instead of how she was in his mind. Relaxed, sweet, in Papyrus’ clutches. It left a bitter taste in his mouth and desire rampaging through his marrow.  


“Well, Reap, good race, as usual.” The Coordinators walked up and handed over a thick wad of cash. They patted Witch on her leather clad shoulder and shrugged.  


“Maybe next time?”  


“Who’re you kidding, no one’s ever beaten Reap.” Fleek laughed as he joined them.  


“The Witch used to win all the time, I’m sure she’ll find a way to pull ahead.” Naga reminded them.  


“Yeah, I had him on the ropes this time.” She sounded so cute, like she was trying to convince herself she _almost_ had him.  


“i only let ya think ya had me on the ropes, sweetheart.”  


“Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night, Reaper.”  


“you could always help me sleep at night.” He purred the flirtation without thinking. Everyone laughed; he could always be counted on to flirt with everyone. Male, female, monster, human. Reaper was just a giant flirt.  


“Nah, wouldn’t want to upset your girlfriend.”  


“ain’t got one.”  


“You’re gonna upset your right hand if you keep that up.”  


More boisterous laughter. If he could be counted on to flirt, the Witch could be counted on to bust his balls. And he loved it. He loved her, even though it was so, so wrong.  


“Alright losers, scram. Shift change should be close to done, everyone’s lost, Reap’s got his money. Let’s not get arrested, yeah?” The Coordinators made shooing motions.  


They all left going the speed limit, taking main roads and obeying laws. Sans watched in his rear view as the Witch’s vehicle left in the opposite direction he was going. He had to swing by the grocer’s to pick up a pie for dessert. Papyrus had insisted on him bringing dessert to these dinners but he didn’t cook and he definitely didn’t bake.  


He went through the process of picking the most edible looking pie and checking out as quickly as possible. If he hurried he’d make it to dinner on time and maybe Papyrus wouldn’t be so ornery. It was a long shot but it’d go a long way to mending their brotherly bridge.  


He was popping the pie in the floorboard of his car when he saw a pretty young thing trying to change a tire. Like all modern young females it seemed she hadn’t been taught the proper procedure. He grinned, adjusted his leather jacket, and sauntered over.  


“hey there sweetheart, need some help?” He put on his most charming grin. Somehow women were still drawn to it despite those shark-like teeth. Or maybe it was because of his dangerous maw.  


“Oh! Yes! Thank you! I was so worried I’d get stranded here.”  


He crouched down to start breaking the seal on the nuts with her four-way. They loosened easily under his strength. His skills as a mechanic extended far beyond just changing a tire but the mindless labor was refreshing. He’d popped the old tire off and the new one on, whistling softly to himself. It hadn’t occurred to him that she’d been just a little too happy to see him, that she’d not gone running the way a lot of decent women did when they saw him. He was a monster after all. Racism was alive and well in New Ebbot and even though he was damn alluring he still received death threats and police complaints just for existing.  


“so, sweetheart, ya headed anywhere special? ya look good, all dolled up.”  


He glanced at the heels and slender ankles, arousal sparking in his marrow. It wasn’t as strong as what he felt with the Witch, with ‘Jimmi’, but hey, a Monster had needs. He couldn’t stay chaste while he waited for her to wise up and get with the right skeleton. Even as he thought that he knew he’d hate her for hurting Papyrus. _fuckin’ feelins._  


“Oh, I’m right where I want to be, I think.” Her flirtatious tone had him purring softly in pleasure. He enjoyed a loose woman like any red-blooded man. If you ignored the fact he didn’t have blood. He snickered to himself, keeping his volume down so she didn’t hear it over him tightening the lug-nuts on the tire.  


“aight, sweetheart, think’m done he--”  


Agony, sharp and focused, speared the back of his skull. Blackness came down like a curtain, quick, to protect him from further pain.


	3. Entry 3: Assignment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You get a big assignment.

You sighed, staring at the paper littered post. One year. Exactly one horrible, long year. Every Monster’s face on that post was familiar to you. The ache in your chest would have brought you to your knees if you hadn’t grown so used to feeling it. You grabbed the roll of papers from your work duffel, pulled a single page free, tucked the roll back, and stapled the flyer to the pole.  


_His_ face stared at you once more. It kept getting buried under others, so many others, but you wouldn’t give up. Papyrus needed someone to be determined. You stared at the skeleton pictured on the flyer. Your eyes traced the curve of his skull, the red pips of light in his sockets, that vicious maw of sharpened teeth, that salacious grin, memorizing all of the details all over again so that you’d recognize him no matter how much time might pass. _Sans Aster. If found call (xxx) xxx-xxx or (xxx) xxx-xxx. Ask for Papyrus or Jimmi._  


Your fingers smoothed the curves of the paper as a knot formed in your throat. Poor Papyrus. When Sans had failed to show for dinner he’d been angry; it had seemed as though Sans had just ditched dinner and crippled the progress they were making. Pap had assumed it was for some ‘floozy with daddy issues’ and had demanded you return home with a couple pints of Ben and Jerry’s and a handful of new movies.  


But then he hadn’t shown up to work the next day. Papyrus had been adamant that while Sans was the laziest creature on the planet, he’d always shown up for work. You’d both canvassed what felt like the entire city. You’d visited every shady bar and greasy diner, talked to every bar owner, and called every phone number scrawled on the bar napkins that had littered Sans’ kitchen table. You’d pried into the private life of a surprisingly complex and private Monster, digging through emails, getting what little information you could from his therapist-- you understood why patient confidentiality was a thing but fuck if it didn’t get in the way sometimes-- and you’d rifled through his mail. You’d turned Sans’ life upside down and shook the damn box but hadn’t found him. And no one felt the sting of failure deeper than Papyrus.  


You glanced at the time on your cell phone before dialing his number.  


“Hey, Boss.”  


“Yes, Jim-Jam?” He’d taken to calling you by your special pet name and using his inside voice more often. It was like when Sans disappeared he took a piece of Papyrus with him.  


“I was out hanging flyers. Want me to stop by Muffet’s and get you somethin’?”  


Muffet’s was his favorite cafe. He’d always said they had the best pastries and made his coffee just the way he liked it. He hadn’t been back there since Sans disappearance as if abstaining from his favorite treats would be atonement enough.  


“That…. That Would Be Nice, Jim-Jam. Could You Get The One With The Berries?”  


The little lift in his tone, a little hopeful lilt, had you smiling.  


“Of course, Boss. Meetchya at the station?”  


“Yes. I’ll Have Coffee Waiting.”  


“You’re the best, Boss.”  


You hung up and stared at the screen of your phone. You felt so useless. All you’d been able to do is drive around, put up fliers, ask questions, and buy the occasional comfort food. You’d not had a single clue in a year and there were so many more missing Monster cases popping up that Sans’ case was often put aside. The Chief wanted to put it in the cold lock up: an old, defunct walk in freezer where the cold cases went. He’d have gotten his way if there weren’t so many other missing Monsters, all with the same M.O. Monster seems happy, has plans, stops somewhere, disappears without a trace. It had the sizable Monster population of New Ebbot more electrified than a live wire.  


You pulled away from the curb and made your way to Muffet’s. You didn’t even bother racing anymore, spending your weekends plastering the town with Sans’ photos and comforting Papyrus. You drove by several of your freshly posted flyers on your way to Muffet’s, renewing your hate for whoever had kidnapped your partner’s brother. You had no clue why someone would take Sans; you knew nothing about him, he could have been taken by the mob or a loan shark or a jealous boyfriend. It didn’t matter, in the end, because all you cared about was that it had hurt Papyrus. Nothing hurt Papyrus on your watch. He was your heterolifemate, your Sinnamon Roll ™, and you’d go to war-- or whatever level of violence he would allow-- before you let this asshat get away with what he’d done.  


Despite the dark turn of your thoughts (you’d definitely started entertaining different kinds of torture on the feckless douche-canoe that had hurt your bestie) you chuckle as you walk into the cafe. The little jingle that announced every customer’s entrance was ‘the itsy bitsy spider’. Muffet was loading the display case with fresh goodies: cookies, pastries, hand pies, slices of loaf-cake. Your mouth was already watering.  


“Oh, hello dearie.” The spider-woman forced a smile when she noticed you. Her many eyes did look a little dimmer than normal.  


“Hey, Muff.” You gave her a sympathetic little mouth shrug while you looked at today’s freshest offerings.  


“How’s my big Detective?” Oh. The longing in her voice made you upset all over again.  


“He’s struggling. Callin’ me Jim-Jam again.”  


“Oh, _mon choupinet_,” she lamented, a pair of her hands coming to rest over her chest, “he should not have to suffer so.”  


“I know. And so many more of your kind are being taken. He takes it all so personally.”  


Muffet nodded knowingly; Papyrus had personally overseen their lives in the Underground and hadn’t really shirked the duty once they’d Emerged.  


“He’s always been so protective, so strong. I miss him.”  


The wistful sigh that left Muffet’s fanged mouth had you giving one of those smiles that was more of a mouth-shrug. Nothing you said helped get Papyrus out of his slump, and no one else had more pull than you.  


“I miss him too. He hasn’t been the same since.”  


Muffet nodded in sympathy.  


“Is there anything he wanted in specific?” She picked up a small pastry box and her tongs. She knew you’d never step foot in a place this fancy without Papyrus unless he was upset or busy.  


“Yeah, that pastry thing with the whipped cream and berries.” You pointed to it, glad it was in the display. “And a cinnamon roll, please.”  


She plopped those in the box and then snagged several other pastries that looked equally mouth-watering. You never protested when she did things like this, since she gave you a really good discount for her food. It was never free, Muffet didn’t believe in free, but she was Papyrus’ squeeze so you got such a steep discount you really couldn’t complain. You dug in your satchel for your wallet and she shook one of her many hands.  


“No, dearie, for Papyrus it’s free.”  


Well, holy shit. Sometimes your partner being such a playboy had its perks. All those hours of waiting for him to get his Off-Duty Booty from Muffet suddenly paid off in the form of a lovely lilac box. You hopped into your Mustang and made for the station, ignoring the jeers of the men in cars at stop lights. Every asshole with a turbo or supercharger wanted to take you on and you just weren’t feeling it. It was just too easy and you had a container of very delicate treats. Sometimes, though, you missed your races; those illicit little adrenaline rushes you’d indulge in every Sunday, but Pap needed you, and you were nothing if not loyal.  


Entering the station with that box made you the target of every officer leaving the building.  


“‘Ey, Slim Jim! Those for me?” A blond behemoth of a man reached for your treasures.  


“Get your own, Jake. And you can’t call me Slim Jim anymore, remember?” You skirted around him, ducking under his outstretched arm.  


“Anita can suck my dick!” He said this loud enough for Anita to hear. If she was even in today. As the precinct’s human resources officer she was allowed to keep her own schedule and show up when she felt like it or when it was most inconvenient for the officers.The guys were great, most of the time, they just had foul mouths and didn’t think too much before opening them.  


“Dude, shut it! She’ll ‘Me Too’ your ass so fast it’ll beat Jimmi’s Mustang.” An older officer, Lawrence, shoved him, laughing.  


“See ya, Jimmi!” called a third officer, you couldn’t remember. You just knew he was a beat cop.  


“G’night guys!” You waved before heading towards the back, where your shared private office was.  


“Night Gumshoe!” They all shouted together while leaving the precinct.  


You laughed; banter with the other officers always left you feeling a little lighter and you needed that feeling these days. You had to be lighter for Papyrus, you had to have room free to help him carry his burden. You knocked twice before entering the little office you shared with your partner.  


“Heya, Boss. Got ya the goods.” You plopped the box on his desk before swiping the stack of files he’d left on the corner for you. His eye lights were dangerously close to boring holes in his laptop screen.  


“Thanks Jim-Jam.” He paused for a moment, his eye lights becoming slightly fuzzy as he stared down at the box. Muffet had drawn a little heart on the lid. He popped open the box to find it filled with all of his favorites, not just the one he had asked for.  


“She’s really sweet on you.”  


He hummed softly before picking up one of the eclairs. He wasn’t a fan of chocolate but Muffet used the dark kind and it gave it a slightly bitter bite he actually enjoyed.  


“You need to give her the D soon, she’s bribing you with pastries.”  


He nearly spat out the bite he’d taken and shot you a dirty look.  


“Sometimes I Wish You Would Shut Your Mouth.”  


“Why?” You snapped up your cinnamon roll and took an obnoxiously large bite of the pastry, knowing how talking around a mouthful of food, with frosting smeared on your face, would get to your skele-bro. “Am I embarrassing you? Too crass?”  


“You Remind Me Of Sans.” His voice was so soft, almost a whisper, or at least his approximation of a whisper. Your smile dropped and you put your hand on his bony shoulder, letting silence reign while you chewed and swallowed.  


“I promise we’ll find him, Boss.”  


“It’s Been A Year, Jimmi. You Know The Odds Of Finding Him As Well As I Do. After The First 48 Hours, He’s Likely Dusted.”  


You squeezed his bones hard. He turned to look up at you, the vermillion pips of light that served for his eyes were dim and small. You gave him the most determined look you could muster.  


“Boss, Papy, I promise you on my mother’s grave I’ll find your brother.” You gave him another squeeze, gentler this time. His lights brightened a little and his strangely moldable mouth twitched upwards slightly.  


“Thanks, Jim.” His gloved hand covered yours. After a moment you trudged over to your desk, booted up your laptop, and started rifling through all those files.  


The hours for a detective were possibly worse than any patrol officer’s. Although if you asked patrol they’d say detectives had the cushy-pillow life. You didn’t have to drive around aimlessly, waiting to see a violation or get a call from dispatch, you just sat at a desk. You sat at a desk and stared at picture after picture after high-definition picture of mutilated bodies, bruised and assaulted children, piles of silvery dust, and mangled vehicles. You read details about the missing, the murdered, the raped, the abused, the stalked, and the occasional petty theft.  


You got to know victims so intimately they felt like family. You got to be part of their family with every interview and at the same time those families hated you when you had no news about where their precious child, parent, sibling, spouse was. Your Soul ached as you read case file after case file of missing Monsters.  


New Ebbot was in the middle of the biggest crime surge the precinct had seen since the founding of the city. Monsters were disappearing left and right, with no eye witnesses, no leads, and no one seemed to care. Which was how the cases landed on your and Papyrus’ desks. You were the department’s Shit Team. They pushed the worst work, the unsolvable bullshit, the petty fights, and the most heart-wrenching cases off on you two. Whatever the other detectives didn’t want to deal with, you did. Because the Chief wanted to see Papyrus fail.  


It didn’t matter that Papyrus did everything by the books. It didn’t matter that Monsters had been integrated into society for nearly a decade. All that mattered was that they were still seen as violent, they were still seen as different, and they still didn’t have all of their rights. They were, essentially, second-class citizens. It made them the easiest to target for crimes. As ex-Captain of the Royal Guard, Papyrus had been given an elevated status. He’d been hired by the police force as a sort of olive branch but no one had expected him to do so well for himself.  


They were still waiting for you two to fail. You were paired with him because you were the only one he could tolerate. You were the only one who treated him as more than just a Monster but an individual. You flipped open Sans’ file, reading over his details again. 6’4, pushing 250 lbs. His bones were so thick you were sure that your hands couldn’t wrap around any of them, except his phalanges and ribs. He was broad and shirtless in his mugshot. He had a long rap sheet, full of violent crimes and petty run-ins with cops. He had dealt with the alley court once or twice, or six times. Each time he’d won, earning him extra time for resisting and assaulting an officer. If it hadn’t been for Papyrus, and the very eloquent Frisk Dreemur, he’d have ended up on Death Row instead of just a few days of community service. A lot of his cases could have been dismissed as self-defense if he hadn’t been a Monster.  


The only person who had seen him before he’d disappeared had been an old grocer. She had said he was a regular. Always picked up a dessert from her small display at almost 8 p.m every Sunday. She had seen him the day he disappeared with a pie. You had exhausted every avenue of question: had any other patrons seen him? Had she seen him talking to anyone? Had anyone looked out of place? Did she have cameras that you could look at? No, nope, nada, no-one, the cameras were for show. Dead end.  


You stared at those crimson eye lights and that one gold tooth for as long as your eyes could bear it. This was Papyrus’ _brother_. You had to find him somehow. You finally moved from brooding over the files to look over your email. The Chief occasionally sent you cases. He never emailed Papyrus; he interacted as rarely as possible with the large Monster. You were sure it had something to do with his ego and small penis size. Only guys with fragile egos and little dicks would be intimidated by Papyrus. Boss was a giant teddy bear under that pointy exterior.  


Sure enough, a red flagged email from the head honcho glared at you from among various inter-departmental notifications. You ignored his email in favor of all the other junk, just to spite him, even though he wouldn’t know. Anita wanted to re-address the use of your nickname. Apparently the ‘Slim’ part of ‘Slim Jim’ was offensive to the thicker bodied women in the department and she felt that it was bringing down the morale of other female officers. You knew it had nothing to do with your figure. A slim jim was an old, now illegal, tool for popping locks on cars. You earned that nickname by being such a pro at unlocking, well, everything. Doors, cars, vaults, you name it. You had nimble fingers and the magic touch. But Anita was one of those people who liked to find something to take offense over and then push it off as if everyone was, or should be, offended by it.  


You chuckled, knowing exactly how all the patrol officers were going to take this one: Ignore the fuck outta it. If anything, Anita was going to have to hear it more often. You couldn’t wait to hear how they slipped in your nickname now that she’d put it back on their radar.  


Click. Next email. Oh, office party for Christmas. Yeah, not going to this years either. The last one you’d gone to Greg had drunk all of the eggnog, wore the punch bowl on his head, and ran around without his pants on. Frank had puked on the Chief’s desk and then Anita had hit on Papyrus so hard that you almost tweeted about it.  


Next. Jake sent you memes. You cackled happily; sometimes inter-department emails were the best thing on the planet. Other times they were dumb memos that could be ignored. You worked through your email log, even going through your spam, spending hours sorting things into folders and deleting the unimportant trash. You even entered dates into your calendar before opening the big man’s email.  


_Detective Team Aster_\-- Shit never started well when it was formally addressed-- _blah blah blah new case blah blah very important….media blackout….undercover_. You stopped skimming, your eyes frozen on the grainy image attached. You straightened up in your chair, which you had been lounging in with your feet on your desk irreverently. It was something that normally bothered Papyrus but he’d been lenient lately. Well, maybe not lenient, morose was a better word.  


“Pap….”  


He straightened, finally settling those bright eye lights on you. Your voice had been filled with cautious hopefulness and fear, an unsettling combination in an officer so experienced.  


“Yes?”  


“Come lookit this.” You sounded almost breathy now.  


He moved over to your side, gloved claws on the back of your chair. Then his hand shot out to cover yours, scrolling the wheel of your mouse to zoom in on the picture.  


“Is That…?”  


“I think so.”  


“And We’ve Been Assigned The Undercover Op?”  


“Yup.”  


A low rumbling hum washed over you. You understood how this had to feel for Papyrus. Overwhelming, scary, exciting, horrifying. You stared at the even blurrier photo. If you hadn’t been staring at his skull every day for a year, you probably wouldn’t recognize him. A cloth covered his sockets, there were new cracks on his skull. He was slumped, missing his trademark grin, lacking the arrogance that he was able to convey even through photos. But there was no mistaking the skull shape or the gold tooth. Sans was tied up and caged, just one of dozens at the outskirts of a fighting ring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who was curious:  
_mon choupinet_ is French. It’s a derivative of _mon chou_ which is a term of endearment. It’s supposed to mean ‘my sweet bun’. _ Mon Chou_ is supposedly for females, while _mon choupinet_ is supposedly for males.


	4. Entry 4: Purchase of Illegal Goods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans P.O.V.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna get a little _Heat_ed. Also, could be triggering. I'm not sure which warnings I should throw up? I can't tell what parts exactly will trigger- some are super obvious, others are a little more in a grey area. So, lend a hand and let me know if there's something in here I need to warn about _ specifically_. ***Trigger warning: Involuntary Drugging**  
ALSO: You guys are great. Every hit and kudo means so much to me. I would like to give a special thanks to everyone who has commented so far, you guys have no idea how happy it makes me! So, shout out to Nikkyla_Vexy, FandomWorld9728, Starliss, Smollunaa1, and Imthefallenchild. You guys have made me almost squeal with joy; as much as I write for the pleasure of writing, I also write for the readers. Hearing that you guys like this, that I haven't screwed up in some monumental way, is what makes me so eager to write another chapter.

Another day was marked by pain lancing through his very magic. It was hard to imagine a worse pain and yet he knew he wasn’t anywhere near his limit. He wouldn’t break, he was too _boneheaded_ to give in. No matter how much of that drug they forced in his marrow, no matter how much they prodded and beat and tortured him, he wouldn’t give in.  


He wallowed in his pain, using it to feed his rage and build his defenses back. The angrier he was, the less his magic cooperated. He’d not fought once, he’d not retaliated even when he was used as bait, and he suppressed his magic. It wasn’t gone, just contained and controlled, which had once been impossible for him. He’d made the mistake of lashing out once, when he was first taken, and had learned that electricity was very effective against Monsters. There was something about it that made it different than physical attacks, despite the similarity in Intent, that kept it from actually harming him. He could be left to sleep and recover naturally, no need for Magi-medical assistance to keep him from Dusting.  


He felt their approach, his leashed magic still functional despite almost a year of neglect. With his sockets covered he couldn’t see stats or Soul colors but he could feel their energy. He recognized one of the energy signatures and had to quickly build his mental defenses up. It only meant one thing when he was here. Their combined musky scents reached his nasal canal not too long before their footsteps announced their arrival at his cage.  


“Sure you wanna dose this one again?”  


“Yeah. We’ve got a newbie on the roster. Maybe we can get rid of this useless sack of shit.”  


Gloved hands gripped his humerus and held him firm. A sharp sting preceded warmth filling his marrow. A growl was ripped from him, reacting automatically to the injection, and he was promptly punished. Electricity flowed through his marrow, sharp and stinging, forcing his joints to lock up and his teeth to grind together. Pain overrode the warmth from the shot but he didn’t make a sound. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.  


The current ended, the hands left, and all he was left with was the burn. Whatever they injected him with ravaged his bones, burning away any trace of who he was, leaving him feral. If it hadn’t been for his inflexible desire to disappoint them, he’d have attacked everything in reach. He could just feel the flicker of weaker Souls around him, his magic flaring and causing more pain as he struggled to keep control of it. It left his body in the only way he would allow it; on exhales as he panted through the low-grade Heat they were triggering. Red plumes of smoke left his maw, curling above his skull and filling the cramped space of his cage. The weaker Monsters nearby began whimpering, their Souls’ energy signatures flickering submissively.  


They only injected him before a fight, whether he was fighting or bait didn’t matter, or when there was a showing. As a Monster that refused to fight he was on the docket to be sold. He was glad that none of the humans could see his stats. They wouldn’t sell him if they knew how powerful he was; they’d just work him over harder, hoping to break him. But humans, for all their intellect, were woefully arrogant. They refused to work _with_ Monsters, leaving them ignorant of what they were capable of.  


They knew about magic but they didn’t know about its potential. They didn’t know how to check stats, they didn’t know about the different branches of magic, they didn’t know about anything the propaganda didn’t tell them. Hell, they barely knew how to stimulate Heats in Monsters. Heats made monsters more aggressive on top of making them rut. In Boss Monsters like him it was even more dangerous. He was temperamental on the best of days. In Heat? He could tear apart this entire city if he wasn’t bound by magically reinforced restraints and magic infused collars. It was both a blessing and a curse that they kept females separate; he wanted to fight every single male in here but at the same time, there was no female to fight over. He was restless and territorial with absolutely no outlet.  


A door slid open, his Heat sharpened senses picked up on the grating sound of metal against metal. Voices, arrogant and human, filled the air. They were chatting about nonsense-- the price of gas, their flights, whatever counted as television these days, the economy. Light topics considering that they were literally buying living, breathing beings to fight for their entertainment. His breathing increased, despite not having lungs, as his Magic burned bright in his bones. His mind struggled as everything in him was turning to blind rage and lust.  


The conversation turned to a topic he wanted to listen in on. It was harder to control his breathing than it was to control his magic but he managed to slow his panting.  


“--some of the best specimens we could gather.” He recognized this voice as the one that gave him the shots. His Soul pulsed with the promise of retribution. Magic buzzed at every junction of bone, tugging and burning, making a low growl rumble through his ribs.  


“Any that show promise?” An older voice, maybe female? It sounded like a smoker either way, rough and raspy.  


“Unfortunately not yet. Many of our acquisitions are reluctant to fight each other. They babble incessantly about their therapies and nonsense.” Dr. Fuckstick sounded way too apologetic about that, as if it was a shame that so many Monsters were trying to get past their violent upbringings. Another growl left him, rage building and burning his marrow in tandem with his magic. He struggled to control it, to keep it leaving on his breath instead of bursting free and shredding his surroundings. He _would not_ Dust another Monster, not for _them_.  


“It’s like they think they’re people!” Some arrogant male added as if he was telling some great joke.  


The titters of laughter afterwards made his magic flex dangerously, pulsing and making his bones rattle. Oh what he would do to them if he ever got out of these restraints. The thoughts, bloody and dark, filling his Heat addled mind, made magic pour from his gaping maw in billowy clouds. Their footsteps were staggered; they were walking in a small line. He struggled to count them. Several were from males, maybe three pairs? There was a distinct click that followed slower, as if the wearer wasn’t used to wearing heels. Although it could also be a calculated pace.  


“Alright, is there anything you are looking for in specific?” Sans growled as that fuckwad of a pharmacist spoke. It was hard to control in this state.  


“We are looking for some small fry to use as bait.” Raspy Smoker said, sounding bored. They were still close to the entrance, probably looking at Whimsuns and Froggits. _Bait_. His mind used their terms and he snarled, hating himself for a moment.  


“And you, my lady?” _Oh?_ He found himself inhaling deeply, trying to pick up a feminine scent. All he caught was theirs, the males, and fear. So much fear. His teeth ground in anticipation and restraint. He wanted to rip something, _anything_, apart. He didn’t want to hurt anyone. His mind struggled against instinct and magic.  


“I’m looking for a fighter.” _Oh that voice_. It was sinful and sweet and Sans felt his magic tug and pool and ache at his pelvis. How long had it been since he’d heard the dulcet tones of a female? His magic surged again, desiring to plunge into something soft, not even caring how his mind vehemently recoiled. He didn’t want to fuck a _human_ of all horrid creatures.  


“Well, you’ll be hard pressed to find that here. We’ve had trouble breaking these mongrels.” Mr. PhD in sadism sounded almost apologetic, like it was so sad that there wasn’t a Monster that wanted to kill their brethren present.  


“I’m sure you have.” He hated— _liked_— how arrogant she sounded. “But I’d still like to try my hand. I have a few...techniques.”  


“Oh?” The good doctor’s intrigued tone made something coil through Sans’ marrow. He didn’t know what it was, it was a new feeling for him, but it drew an even deeper growl from the Monster as he strained against his bindings.  


“I can’t divulge all my secrets.” Teasing laughter. He really wanted to hate that sound but it made his magic pulse pleasantly along his overheated bones. He hissed in air through his teeth, pleasure humming through him, unwanted and yet he ached for more.  


“Of course, my lady. Please, browse at your leisure. Let me know when you’ve found one you like.”  


The click of her heels was distant but his impeccable auditory canals picked it up just fine. The shift of fabric over skin was a soft sound that sent his magic pulsing. He felt his control slipping with every movement this mysterious woman made. Ectoplasmic saliva dribbled from his tongue, which had formed without his consent, dripping along his teeth and mandible as he panted. He hated how his claws twitched with the desire to rake across soft skin. How he wanted to bite and rend and tear apart everyone, even the helpless, caged Monsters, how he wanted to press into her softness, wanted to make her scream. He didn’t even care that she was human, a cocksleeve was a cocksleeve, regardless of race. And yet that thought made his bones clench together the way they would when he was ill.  


A different clicking noise echoed through the hushed warehouse; it sounded like someone snapping their fingers. Sans found himself torn between wanting to bite those fingers off and feeling intensely curious about who they belonged to. If they were the female's were they long or short, slim or chubby, soft or calloused? It shouldn’t matter but the thought pressed itself to the front of his thoughts.  


“This one.” Ah, the female’s voice. It slid over his bones like a balm, causing pleasurable pulses in his magic. How long had it been since he’d sunk into a woman? Magic pooled along the seam in his pubis, hot and insistent. He fought his instinct to form his genitals. It was bad enough that his tongue had formed and was now lolling out of his maw, he didn’t want to deal with _that_ too. It already felt too much like _they_ were winning this round.  


“To fight?” A male said this, a voice he hadn’t heard before, sounding incredulous.  


“Possible bait. Although only time will tell. Magic can be unpredictable.”  


A few more slow clicks accompanied the delicate hushing of fabric over skin before she stopped again, closer now. Another growl worked its way through him despite his lack of vocal equipment. It rumbled low and harsh in his cage as he strained against his restraints, his body moving of its own volition as the drug rampaged through the streams of his magic. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold out against the pulling and tugging of magic at his pelvis as thought after thought of blood and soft skin, screams and moans, terrorized his exhausted mind.  


The growling seemed to urge her to move quicker, or perhaps it was the terrified whimpers of the Monsters around him, if the slight increase in the frequency of clicking was any indication. He salivated more in anticipation. She paused twice more, ordered one more cage, before she stood before him. She paused the longest at his cage and it was pure torture. Her perfume was overbearing and floral. He was sure it would be appealing to a human male, with their pitifully dull senses, but to his sharp nasal cavity it felt like a physical blow; it was like being thrown through the window of a flower shop.  


He heard cloth moving over skin and felt the flicker of her Soul brush his; she was leaning close to his cage to examine him. His magic pulled harder, more insistent, as if it was trying to reach her. More left on exhales as he panted harder; the feel of her Soul was softer, brighter, less corrupt than the usual humans and his Soul was desperate to connect to something pure. He lunged against his restraints, his bones screaming in protest as they moved for the first time in days. He could feel the pulse of his magic at his joints and knew they glowed red. She gasped slightly but he didn’t hear her move away. The little sound made his bones rattle gently, filling his cage with a quiet clacking.  


“This one looks like a real fighter.” Her voice was softer, thoughtful. Then the scent she was trying to hide hit him: thunderstorms and wildflowers. That sharp, clean, gentle smell hit him harder than the perfume. He came unhinged. The magic that had been tugging at his pubis won its battle, forming his glowing erection. The threadbare medical gown he wore tented, he could feel it lifting from his sensitive, overheated bones. He whined pitifully at the stimulation on his magic and he found it harder to breathe. He panted harder, inhaling and exhaling in short, harsh bursts. He clawed at the floor of the cage, his magically enforced clawed phalanges gouging into the sheet of metal. He whimpered, whined, and growled as he strained to reach _her_.  


He didn’t have the mental capacity to ask himself why _Jimmi_ of all people would be _here_, buying a Monster. He didn’t even think of how hurt Papyrus would be knowing that his datemate— Was she still Pap’s datemate? Does that even matter to him at the moment?-- was entrenched in New Ebbot’s criminal underbelly. All he could think of was how soft she would feel, how easy it would be to pin her down and bury his teeth and his cock into her.  


“Definitely a fighter.” The purr of pride in her voice made another whine, desperate and needy, leave his maw.  


“He seems to have taken a liking to you.” _That_ male voice sounded too close to her. A feral growl ripped itself from his snarling maw. Thick, red ectoplasmic drool flung itself from his mandible as he snapped his teeth shut like a dog snapping at the air. It was a threat, even the Monsters around him whined submissively. He felt their Souls shrinking away from his possessive display.  


“Yes, it does seem so. I’ll take him.”  


“This one was been very resistant to our methods.”  


She hummed thoughtfully, the sound wringing a low purr from Sans. He hated this. He had no control; his body moved and made noises, his magic surged and formed without any permission from him. The collar and cuffs were the only reason his magic couldn’t reach beyond the confines of his cage. Otherwise he could just shred this flimsy metal prison and claim that soft, sweet prize on the other side.  


“Ma’am! Ma’am we don’t--”  


If he had thought himself mindless before, he was exposed to a whole new form of short-circuiting when that soft skin touched along the bottom of his jawline. Pleasure, intense and rolling, sparked along where she trailed her finger. It slipped along his bones, fizzled at his joints, caused more thick saliva to drip from his open maw. A needy moan escaped him and his hips bucked helplessly at her simple touch. The scent, her natural scent, was cleaner coming from her wrist and his tongue searched for it. It met soft skin and he released a purr as it slid along her retreating finger. Pleasure shot through him at her taste, so sweet, and need twisted through his marrow.  


“What drug do you use?”  


“Pardon?”  


“He’s clearly not in a natural Heat. The flushing at his joints isn’t bright enough. What do you use? And where might I purchase some?” Her voice had a firm, commanding edge to it. He purred louder, his mind filled with ideas on how to break her. He could barely follow the conversation they were having, much less understand why it seemed important.  


“Oh-oh! You’re interested in that?”  


“Yes. I know enough about Heats to know he’ll be more aggressive in a fight. But clearly, for females, he’s a little more...submissive. Willing. Perhaps I can coerce him better if I were to have some of your little miracle.”  


Her light flattery, that lilt in her voice, had Sans growling possessively. He wanted that touch back. He didn’t like how she was talking about him as if he was an animal. And at the same time he’d give anything to bury into her soft heat. His growl shifted from a gravelly rumble to a needy whine as he imagined how she’d feel. Soft and wet and tight, oh so tight, and-- he shut the thought down, even as his hips bucked and his claws dug into the floor again. He _hated_ humans and he _hated_ this stupid drug and he hated _her._  


“Of course, my lady. Is there anything else I can do for you?”  


“Not at this moment. Just those three monsters and some of your little miracle.”  


A snap of fingers, a shuffling of feet, a click and a gasp. Sans could only guess what actions those sounds were connected to but when the man spoke again his voice was smug and pleased.  


“Anything you wish. I hope to do business with you again.”  


There was a shuffling of cloth, and then those heels clicked away, tantalizingly slow. The stomp of boots approached his cage, making him snarl. He wanted _her_ back. He wanted that soft touch and what was sure to be an expanse of even softer skin, back. The memory, so old and so precious, of that fragile patch of skin at her throat, surfaced. Then the one of her sweet sleeping face. He wanted that back. He snarled and twisted as best he could in his binds, hunched down like the feral animal they thought he was. Laughter echoed and then he was jabbed in the ribs. He twisted to snap at it; his hands may be bound and his magic may be restrained but he could still rend with his teeth. Then the electricity arced: a cattle prod had been shoved against his lower ribs. They’d known he was most sensitive around his eighth or ninth row and the pain that shot through him had him yelping and pulling away. Or at least trying to. He strained against the metal keeping him in the cage as wave after wave of pain rode him like a cowboy at a rodeo.  


He was helpless. They laughed and kept the prod against him, chasing him with it even though his range of movement was so small, until the pain put him down. They had no fear of Dusting him. Aside from electricity managing to do no tangible harm to Monsters, while still causing an excruciating amount of pain, the collar was programmed to use green magic to heal him if he danced too close to death. He reached his limit after a minute and a half of electrocution, oblivion reaching for him like an old friend. With how fucked his life had been this past year, he considered that particular void family.


	5. Entry 5: Initial Contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You don't have such a great time. Turns out a year of mistreatment leaves Sans more than a little scarred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** Trigger Warning** This whole chapter is one panic attack either encroaching or happening. Reader gets attacked, so there's violence too. I'm sorry.

_Be ready._  


Your fingers shook as you sent that rather ominous text to Papyrus. Your stomach was tying itself into knots, roiling and cramping. You hated undercover ops; they were risky for any officer. For the partner of the only Monster Detective? You were mentally running down the possibilities of having been recognized. Had you been in a newspaper article recently? Could they see your bone structure beneath the makeup? Had the wig not been pinned in place properly? Did they see the wire that followed the curve of your breast?  


Your hands were sweaty and your grip on the steering wheel was tense. Your knuckles stood out, almost white, against the black leather. There was so much riding on this operation. It wasn’t just a bad time for New Ebbot, it was a bad time for Monsters in general. Your breathing was loud in the silent cabin. You wished you could have brought your Mustang, it would have been a comfort, but it stood out. You had to blend in. So you were driving some nondescript black sports car with none of the quirks and sounds you’d grown to love from your muscle car.  


You glanced to the cell phone resting near your hand, in the little cubby almost designed for cell phones. You wanted it to light up, to provide distraction. Sure you were driving and should be giving it your full attention but your treacherous mind kept giving you the worst case scenarios. Your cover being blown, captured by the cruel assholes that captured Monsters. Papyrus being sold into that terrible servitude. You winding up on a missing poster. Your stomach cramped painfully and sweat made slow paths down your sides.  


You glanced back at the road, feeling an ache starting in your brow from the tiny muscles being tense for the past twenty minutes. _Shit!_ You’d almost missed your exit! You quickly found your way to the right lane, weaving carefully through the traffic so that the moving van could follow. Your heart was pounding harder in your chest, causing pain to radiate from your sternum outwards. It wasn’t too bad, just a little jolt and ache. Still, your desperate mental escapism had you running on autopilot. You would have taken them to the apartment if you hadn’t glanced up at the signs.  


A glance in the rear view mirror did nothing to ease your suffering. The moving van was keeping a safe distance from you; the expressions on the men in the cabin were indiscernible. It only made your heart skip and pound and ache further. Words fell from your lips, a prayer that had been drilled into you at the Academy, breaking the suffocating silence of the sports car’s carefully insulated interior.  


“Lord, give me the courage to face the dangers of my work, the strength of body and spirit to help others and uphold the law, and Lord protect me always.”  


Muscles trembled. The prayer did nothing for your nerves. Your breathing quickened and shit now wasn’t a good time. You flexed your hands against the steering wheel and tried to force your breathing to slow, struggling against the tightness in your throat. Once you got to the mansion, once you got to Papyrus, you could fall apart. One more breath, one more turn, one more moment. You repeated it like a mantra, a shield against the rising panic in your chest. It worked better than the prayer.  


While it only took a few more minutes, a few more turns, to reach the manor, it had felt like half an hour. Your muscles were cramping, trembling, tingling. You had lost blood flow in your fingertips, leaving that horrible static-fuzz-on-the-tv feeling in your limbs. There was that feeling, a prickly tingling, all along your nose to your chest; a reminder that you were either breathing in too much oxygen or not getting enough in your panic. You inhaled deeply once to compose yourself before you left the rental vehicle, your poker face firmly in place even as your mind threatened to unravel.  


The moving truck backed into the garage carefully. You hid nervous energy behind the facade of being too involved in your cell phone. The men hopped down from the cabin, greasy grins in place as they looked you over. You snapped your fingers and Papyrus emerged from the door that connected the garage to the rest of the house. The men immediately looked uncomfortable.  


“Boys, this is my servant. Edge here will help you with the new acquisitions.”  


Your voice was smooth, calm and even. It took every ounce of discipline you had to manage that. Papyrus was in rags; a ratty grey shirt and ripped sweatpants. He was gloveless, shoeless, and collared. It added to the illusion that you were some spoiled rich fuckface that would treat Monsters like tools. It made your stomach clench hard and acid burned a sour path up your throat.  


You thumbed through your emails as Papyrus and the two goons hefted covered cages onto their shoulders and carted them into the den. Papyrus was strong enough to carry the smaller cages by himself. All three of them were needed to bring Sans’ cage in. That one had your stomach flipping end over end because Papyrus had no clue you’d been able to buy Sans. He knew you’d gotten a connection, a way into the surprisingly exclusive Monster fighting business. You couldn’t wait to see his face when you revealed the contents of that particular cage.  


Your emails weren’t anything surprising. The Asshole-in-Charge wanted an update already. He knew that undercover ops could take up to a year to set up. You’d only had this case for two months; you’d worked this one like it was your life. He had no clue the amount of footwork you’d done, how many old wounds you’d opened up in order to just put your toes in the proverbial door. You made a noise of annoyance before you could help yourself, slowing the exit of the goons. They looked to you as if expecting you to degrade them despite not having done anything worthy of that effort. You fixed that with a sharp glare until they left, looking like you were going to make a very aggravated phone call.  


Papyrus rushed to the office, probably to watch them leave, while you pretended to be verbally abusing someone on the phone. Just in case; the windows on the manse weren’t heavily curtained at the moment.  


“THEY’VE MADE IT DOWN THE BLOCK.” Papyrus called from the office, which was the go-ahead for pulling the heavy curtains closed. You were quick to complete that task, wanting to get those Monsters out of those cages as quickly as possible.  


“How Many Were In There?” His voice is soft as he emerges, looking at the three tarp covered cages before him. His eyelights are so dim it has you shelving your emotions. He has enough on his plate right now.  


“Dozens, Boss. Maybe three dozen cages. And more were empty. They had a whole team of private security, I didn’t recognize the patch though.” You were surprised at how level you were able to keep your voice as you brushed your fingers over the coarse tarp coverings.  


“I got a couple I knew were fresh ‘nappings. Didn’t want to have to worry too much about PTSD and all that paperwork.”  


“Really Jim?”  


“Really, Pap. The Big Cheese is already asking for a report. We’ve barely begun and we’ve already got to write up the fiscal damages for buying these guys, whatever quick therapy and medical treatment they’re gonna need, not to mention the rentals and these threads.” You ticked off each item with your fingers, your brow furrowing as you estimated how much it cost already. You weren’t _that_ great at math but you knew this operation was going to be expensive. Hell if it weren’t for the King and Queen of Monsters footing so much of the bill you were pretty sure the Chief would have you sleeping at the cheapest motel and finding volunteers to fight. You could write a whole essay on all the ways _that_ could go wrong. An operation like this was expensive by necessity, if you wanted it to be a success, and you definitely did.  


The glare he sent you was only half-hearted. He understood, probably better than you did, what kind of red tape the Head Honcho had you wrapped in. He was the one who usually wrote all of your reports anyways; he always knew how to say things better. You glanced at the big cage. Sans was a big boy, but you hadn’t really registered how much bigger than other Monsters he was until you compared the cage sizes.  


“Where should we start, Boss?”  


“Let’s Start Small. Whoever Is In The Big Cage Might Put Up A Fight.”  


You nodded and moved to untie the covering. Papyrus worked from the other side so that the poor Soul wouldn’t be stuck in that dark prison for too much longer. They cowered at the sudden light, whimpering pitifully at the sight of the human that bought them. Your heart ached. Their expression was so broken, they were so petrified of humans, that you worried about them ever being able to reintegrate into society. It was lucky for you that they recognized Papyrus.  


“You’re here! Captain! Help! Please!” The small Wimsun yanked at the bars of their cage, casting pleading glances to Papyrus while they cowered away from you. You held your hands up in a placating manner before you worked at their locks. You had the keys but you wanted to familiarize your fingers with these locks. They were different from any lock you’ve picked to date and you had the intention of releasing every Monster captured. To do that you would probably have to use your particular skill set; you couldn’t buy them all, even with the Monster royalty backing you.  


“Yes, I Am Here. This Is My Partner. We’re Not Going To Hurt You.”  


As you introduced yourself, you spoke carefully, gently, giving them your real name. Papyrus had said that Monsters could feel intent and with you usually going by your nickname, telling someone your real name was an act of trust. You hoped that olive branch would be understood.  


“I’m gonna open the latch and you can come out when you’re ready.”  


Once you’d wrung that delightful click from the mechanism you flipped the latch and eased the cage open. They seemed ready to faint from fear, quaking and so damn small that it made your stomach start revolting. How could _anyone_ hurt a Monster this small? You eased back, remaining on your knees so that you seemed less intimidating. Papyrus joined you and held his hand out. While his position as Captain of the Guard had once been something that sparked terror in Monsterkind, his achievements since coming to the surface had turned him into a symbol of hope and peace. He was a Monster working among humans, as their equal, as their superior in some circumstances. It was admirable.  


The Whimsun crept from the cage, moving slowly and cautiously, until it was in the shelter of Papyrus’ arms.  


“Everything Will Be Fine. I’m Going To Take You To A Room. You’ll Be Safe There. Rest. You Will Remain Here Until We Can Arrange For You To Safely Return To Your Family.” Papyrus’ words were confident and gentle, reminding you of your family. A pain shot through your chest, memories threatened to press in. You took a shaky breath while he was gone, using the silence to steady yourself before you would have to face another terrified victim. When it was time to repeat the process, this time with an adolescent Moldsmal, you were prepared. You focused on your tools, your breathing, and the large cage at the back.  


“Last One?” Papyrus sounded so tired. You placed a hand on his forearm.  


“This one… might be a bit of a shock for you, Boss.”  


If he was curious about your words he didn’t say so. He simply patted your hand in a reassuring manner before tilting his head towards the big cage. You took the cue and yanked the cover from the prison. Despite the size, it was still too small to really contain the Monster inside. He was resting on his haunches, wrists chained to the center of the cage, keeping him hunched over so that his skull wouldn’t hit the top.  


“Sans?” You spoke softly, trying to test his awareness. He seemed completely out of it and you weren’t sure if it was from the drug, the tazing, or if it had become his constant state in order to protect himself from the abuse.  


Your fingers worked quickly at the lock now, needing very few practice runs to become familiar with the tumbler’s layout. The heavy door squealed as you pushed it open. You spotted some rusting at the hinges.  


“Sans?” Papyrus’ voice was softer than you’d ever heard it, an actual whisper of sound. His eyelights traveled over his brother’s restrained form, pain a fleeting micro-expression, but one you’d caught easily. You swallowed and met his worried gaze. He nodded once more and you knelt close to the skeleton.  


Removing the handcuffs was easy. The collar gave you problems. It wasn’t necessary to remove the collar to free him from the cage, but you hated seeing the thick strap of metal around the Monster’s neck. You were close enough to have your hair, or rather your wig, brush against his mandible.  


Your focus was entirely on the irritatingly complex lock on the collar. You didn’t notice the way the broad chest in front of you started heaving, Sans’ breathing becoming almost panicked.  


“ **h u m a n**….”  


The deep rumble vibrated through you and your head shot up, meeting the gaze of enormous Monster. His bowed head made it so that those crimson eyelights easily bathed you in their glow, even from behind the cloth that covered his sockets. A prickle of something shot down your spine, raising the hairs on your arms. Knowing he was large and seeing that he was large were two very different things. He absolutely dwarfed you with his imposing frame.  


“Sans?” Your voice wavered slightly, unable to hide the fear.  


Instead of speaking he growled, sounding as if he ate gravel for breakfast every morning. Red smoke began to leak through the gap in his blindfold. You felt like a rubber band snapped against your skin, adrenaline and fear sparking in your veins instantaneously. Running was the only thing your body thought to do in the face of this unusual terror.  


Unfortunately heels and a long dress made that a fool’s errand. You turned, your feet failed to be underneath you, your legs unsteady as you scrambled to stand. In that small struggle, lasting less than a frenzied heartbeat, Sans’ immense hand captured you and you slammed into the floor, face first. Blood exploded into your mouth as your teeth came together on your tongue, your lips pressed and rubbed and broke against those same teeth, and your nose caved under the assault. Your ears rang, the pitch tinny and sharp, like when you were at the firing range without ear plugs.  


A hand wrapped around your neck, sharp claws digging into the column as the fingers squeezed. Your hands immediately went to fighting the hard phalanges cutting off your oxygen supply. You couldn’t breathe, that horrible copper tang filled your mouth. As if breathing with a hand around your neck wasn’t hard enough, you felt the muscles tensing and closing. Your heart hammered so hard in your chest that the pain radiated through your entire torso. You couldn’t hold back anything anymore. Tears tracked down your face, you blubbered as much as your limited oxygen could allow, black danced at the edge of your vision.  


You registered Papyrus’ voice over a low rumbling. It sounded like it was coming from down a long hallway, but hadn’t he been mere feet behind you? There was some clacking, a sharp metallic clang, and the pressure on your throat eased, although it didn’t disappear. No, you were too far gone for that. You weren’t seeing Papyrus now, you were seeing him six years ago. Although, the expression he wore now was the same no matter what year it was.  


“P-p-p-paaaa—” You tried to call for Papyrus but your words died in your throat.  


Black dots spotted your vision, your breathing was rapid and whistling, and you pressed your hand to your side. You expected to feel that horrible wet squish under your fingers but they were numb and tingling.  


“Pap. Pap. Help. Hospital.” Your voice was a thread of sound. You tried to crawl forward, hand still pressed to your side, and found that your muscles screamed from the exertion. Too little oxygen made movement nigh impossible. Large hands wrapped around your waist and you kicked out, flopping to the ground, expecting to have to fight your attacker. When those red-orange lights met yours, your heart rate evened out. It was still jackhammering under your skin but it was less erratic.  


He spoke your name softly, calming you with his tone. Your breathing started to deepen, but your hand didn’t leave your side. The blood coating your mouth, filling the air with it’s coppery smell, kept you trapped in your mind.  


“Gotta get help, Boss. Gotta… gotta…” You struggled to breath, remembering blood filling your lungs. You could taste the copper at the back of your throat, just like then.  


“Shhhh. Relax.” He took your hand from your side.  


“Can’t! Bleed out!” Your tone was whiny, fearful.  


Again he was the voice of reason, calm and raspy.  


“No, Jim-Jam. You Won’t. Here, Trust Me.”  


You stared at those vermillion lights and nodded slowly. After a swallow of that horrible metallic liquid, you relaxed your deathgrip on your side. His steady gaze held no fear, no rage. Not like then. His boney hand touched your side. You flinched instinctively, expecting to feel that horrible burning pain. Instead it was just...cool. Soothing.  


“See? No Holes.”  


“No holes?”  


He hummed and rocked you. Each slow movement brought you closer to the present, brought your heart rate down a beat, helped fill your lungs with just a little more air.  


“Thanks Pap.” You croaked.  


“Anytime.”  


You hated that he had to help you through that _again_. You hated seeing the guilt in your partner’s lights. You didn’t blame him the way he blamed himself.  


“I’ll Take Care Of Sans. Go Wash Up.”  


Your eyes glanced over to the other skeleton. He was locked back in his cage, unconscious. You couldn’t tell if he was injured or not, with the way he was crammed into the cage. You wanted to help your partner, your best friend, but clearly a year of torment had done too much damage. A decade of therapy, of relative safety on the Surface, completely unraveled because of a year at the hands of a few _disgusting_ humans. Your heart clenched weakly, painfully, at the damage your species had done. You weren't ready to process the damage that had in turn been done to you; you were too tired for that.  


You finally nodded to your partner and trudged up to the suite of rooms you and Papyrus had claimed for yourself. A hot shower wouldn’t wash away those memories or the exhaustion that came with them. You touched your mouth gently, trying not to aggravate your wounds. Your fingers came away coated in dark red liquid. At least the shower would wash away the blood.


	6. Entry 6: Adjunct

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans' P.O.V.  
He's given an offer he'd be wise not to refuse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated sooner than expected! Enjoy the shitshow that is this fic!  
And thank you to all the lovelies who gave me kudos and left comments! Even those who just drop in and give it a quick read! Love all of you!  
Conflicted Sans is my favorite Sans.

Sans stared at the ceiling in his room. The bed beneath his bones was plush, a wonderful luxury after a year in a cage. And yet he felt tense, expecting the bed to suck him in and suffocate him. He drummed his clawed phalanges on his sternum, enjoying the rhythmic clacking of bone on bone. The pain that came from the contact was nice, too. It kept him grounded, reminded him of what he had to do, reminded him of what he’d _done_.  


The cell phone Papyrus had lent him vibrated. He glanced at the screen.  


_SHE’S HEADING BACK TO THE DEN._  


_perfect._  


He slipped from the borrowed bed and slid his bare feet into Papyrus’ slippers. His borrowed lounge pants pooled where they met the slippers which pleased him to no end. It had been _so long_ since he’d worn anything so comfortable. All that was missing was a hoodie or his jacket.  


He shuffled out of the room, listening closely for the telltale slap of her bare feet. Pap said she had a bad habit of going barefoot when she couldn’t find her slippers. Sure enough the quiet slap of skin against tile came from down the hall. Papyrus had stationed Sans close to their rooms. He waited until he heard the click of a handle’s latch before he shuffled out into the hallway. Muffling his footsteps was a lot harder with slippers that were meant for feet much longer than his.  


That maddening scent of flowers, ozone, and petrichor strengthened. His magic tingled in anticipation while his bones stiffened at the joints. That was weird. His Soul felt...wrong. It leapt in joy and clenched in fear. He rubbed his bruised sternum anxiously. His eye lights dilated and shrunk in sequence as his magic twisted uncomfortably just beneath his bones.  


He needed to apologize, he reminded himself. He hadn’t seen her since the _accident_, roughly a week ago. Either Papyrus would intercept him or she would manage to slip away with him catching only the briefest glimpse. It made guilt weigh his Soul down. He knew it wasn’t his fault but…  


He carefully turned the doorknob and opened it just wide enough for him to see into the room. She was sprawled out on the couch, the only part of her he could see was her hair and her feet. His mouth tugged first into a grin-- she had cute little toes-- before grimacing because _ugh_ human feet. So fleshy, so disgusting. A strange shudder wracked his bones and his Soul twisted. He rubbed his sternum again, the pain distracting him. This was his only chance, the only opening Papyrus was going to give him.  


He’d begged for this, he couldn’t waste it, so he slipped into the room. The plush carpet helped muffle his slippered steps. The room was dark, she’d pulled the blackout curtains shut, lit only by the television. Some human was on the screen, telling jokes and doing skits. She wasn’t laughing, not audibly, so he couldn’t tell if she’d already fallen asleep. Papyrus said she slept a lot, that all humans sleep a lot when they have to heal. Especially for wounds so...extensive.  


His approach to the couch was slow, his magic making his joints stiff and unwilling. His Soul gave another hard clench, his magic buzzing, and sweat began to form at the back of his skull. Well shit. The last time he’d felt this way had been the first time he’d been used as bait. He flexed his hands and shook them out, hoping to get rid of the strange feeling in his bones.  


Edging into the peripheral of her vision seemed like the best course of action, so he did so, slowly. Very slowly. His body was having issues cooperating. Was he doomed to always be so conflicted around her?  


“hey.”  


She jolted up, twisting to put him fully in her eye sight. He felt a jolt when their gazes collided, like she’d hit his Soul with a joy buzzer. His bones felt too tight, like his magic was going to explode from them, and they itched. More sweat gathered on his skull and began to drip towards his spine.  


“Hi.” Her voice was raw and her tone cautious. Fear darkened her eyes.  


“i uh… can we talk?”  


He rubbed his sternum.  


“Y-yeah. Sure.”  


She moved slowly, her eyes never leaving him, tracking his movements carefully. She was scared, it tainted her lovely smell. He didn’t like it. Just like he didn’t like those bruises. One spanned her face, right under her eyes, from the outer corner of the left to the outer corner of the right. Her nose had a weird metal thing at the center, with a gauze pad beneath and medical tape above. Her neck had a very large handprint, with scabbed over gouges from claws. He could almost make out the separation of the bones in the hand. If Pap hadn’t knocked him out...  


He looked down at his hand, his eye lights dimming. _He_ had done that. Papyrus had told him he had. Sans didn’t remember, not really. He got flashes of memory, wisps of emotion, but nothing actually solid or coherent. It wasn’t the first time he’d been through it, he knew it was called dissociation. He knew it came with PTSD. He’d had to deal with it during his first few years of living on the Surface. His therapist had helped him get over it, for the most part. He didn’t exactly keep appointments often. Sleeping with his therapist had been an awful idea. Woman was clingy as hell.  


She wrapped her fingers around the remote and hit the mute button. But she didn’t invite him any closer. That was fine. He didn’t think he wanted to be any closer to her. Her scent was still beguiling but the sight of her skin made his magic crawl and leap, in both disgust and excitement.  


“So?”  


He had rehearsed the words so many times and now they eluded him. He opened his maw and shut it.  


“i uh…”  


He floundered again, mouth opening and shutting, like a fish out of water. Some amusement found its way to her cautious eyes. He liked that better. Her fear made him uncomfortable more than it pleased some sick part of him. He cleared his nonexistent throat, the action something he’d picked up from his few human friends.  


“m’sorry.” He blurted the words out, a little louder than he’d wanted to, as if they’d just been stuck and had finally dislodged. She flinched. He wasn’t loud, not like Papyrus, but Sans was pretty sure Pap would never put his hands around her neck in any way she didn’t like. Did she like that? Not a good time to get side tracked.  


“didn’ mean ta hurt ya. i don’ even remember doin’ it. i kinda remember smellin’ somethin’. sweat, plastic, tha’ stars awful perfume. guess it triggered somethin’ an’ all i saw was red. jus' wanted ta be free.”  


He bowed his head while he confessed, kicking the too large slipper against the carpet. Now his lights came up, hoping to catch her eye and not see his damnation in those lovely orbs. He couldn’t stand it.  


“Sans, would you like to sit by me?”  


There was no condemnation in her expression. There was fear, healthy and justified fear, but no hate. She patted the seat beside her. He moved slowly still. His body didn’t want to cooperate and he didn’t want to give her a reason to be any more scared than she currently was. The couch groaned under his weight; the manor had sat for a long time before they’d inhabited it. Much of the furniture wasn’t used to the weight of bodies just yet. She twined and twisted her fingers, dropping her gaze to her hands.  


“It sounds a lot like you’ve got PTSD.” Her words were measured, her tone soft. She sounded a lot like his therapist.  


“I know it won’t make much sense to you, but,” she coughed and cleared her throat. “I don’t hold you responsible. You’re a victim.”  


Now she looked at him, something in her eyes holding him captive.  


“Victims tend to repeat the offense that caused them pain. Either because they’re looking to push the pain off of themselves or have someone who will understand them, even if it means creating that someone. It’s not your fault. It will never be your fault.”  


Her words were spoken with something more than just the experience of a police officer. It sounded personal to her. He wanted to reach out to her but the idea of her skin against his bones made his magic crawl unpleasantly. A memory flashed in his mind. Warm liquid oozing onto his phalanges, something soft in his hand, fear. His eye lights shrunk and dilated before he shook his head as if to rattle the memory out of his skull.  


“how can ya forgive me so quick?”  


A small smile curved her mouth. The split in her lip opened back up, bright red seeping from the crack.  


“I’m a cop for a reason. I keep the innocent safe and put away the bad guys. Even when the victims become the perpetrators, I’ve never been able to hold it against them.” She shrugged and licked away the blood. The sight of her tongue, so small and pink, made his magic pulse warmly and his joints tightened in disgust. “They were hurt and all I want to do is help.”  


Another smile curved her lips, splitting the wound further open. Didn’t she feel that? He pointed one clawed phalanx to his own mouth, his eye lights mere pinpricks in his sockets. It really made him uncomfortable to see her blood.  


“Oh! Yeah. I can’t even eat without it splitting again.” She wiped it away with her fingers and cleaned it off on her lounge pants.  


Silence stretched almost uncomfortably. She was too good. It explained why Pap loved her, why Pap deserved her. It made him feel dirty and wrong and unworthy of her presence. He dropped her gaze, finding his hands much more interesting.  


“JIM!” Papyrus appeared in the doorway. Whatever he was going to say was pushed off as he took in his brother.  


Crimson eye lights met vermillion and an unspoken conversation took place. Papyrus had always been amazing at reading a situation and expressions. It’s what made him an amazing cop.  


“THE CHIEF AND THE KING ARE HERE TO DISCUSS THE CASE.”  


She nodded and moved from the couch. Her arms wrapped around her middle and she moved cautiously. It seemed more out of pain than fear. Papyrus put his hand between her shoulder blades when she was close enough and used his touch to guide her.  


Sans wasn’t normally the nosy type, it took too much energy, but something in the way Pap had looked at him had said that he might want to eavesdrop. He used his incredibly sharp hearing-- thanks, whole year of being blindfolded-- to follow their footsteps. They didn’t move that far away. He waited until he could hear the door click and muffled voices from halfway down the hall. He gathered his magic, finally running fluidly through his bones, and popped into existence beside the door he’d reasoned that the sounds came from.  


Glad to see that his estimations of distance were correct, he quietly settled against the wall and closed his sockets. The voices were still quite muffled but much clearer.  


“-- look like hell, detective.” Sans didn’t recognize that voice. But it was definitely male.  


“We Had An Incident With One Of The Victims.” Papyrus answered, voice neutral. It was still so strange to hear his 'inside voice'.  


“Your brother, I am assuming, Captain?” Asgore’s deep rumble filled the room, unable to be muffled by a simple door.  


“Your Majesty, he’s not Captain anymore.” The unknown male sounded almost petulant.  


“Old habits. I am sure you can overlook it.” The King of Monsters sounded amused and only perfunctorily apologetic.  


“Yes, It Was Sans. He--” Papyrus started.  


“He’s a victim. He’s got PTSD. It’s not his fault.”  


Hearing her firmly defend him, even as her voice sounded like it’d been in a wrestling match with a pack of 80 grit sandpaper, made something warm settle in his Soul.  


“Victim or not, you will have to file charges, detective.” The unknown voice pressed. Sans resolved to call him Dickhead.  


“I’m not filing charges against a guy who’s been tortured for a year.”  


“You will if you want to be extracted.”  


“I’m sorry, what?!” She shouted, her hoarse voice cracking at the volume she was attempting.  


“Jim--” Papyrus sounded strained, like he was attempting to soothe her or hold her back.  


“No! I’m not pressing charges! He’s a victim! And we’re not dropping the case yet! We only got out three Monsters!”  


“Jim--”  


“They won’t stop! They had so many more cages! They’ve got some lunatic pumping them full of drugs and--”  


“Ah, Detective Jim?”  


Asgore’s soft interjection stopped her rampage. She corrected him, giving him her real name. Sans let it roll around in his mind, tasting it as best he could without actually saying it. He liked it. It suited her.  


“On behalf of all Monsterkind, I want to thank you for putting yourself at risk for even a single of my subjects. I admire your passion for helping my people. I know it is unorthodox but would you be willing to delve further undercover for me? I see what you see, maniacs who will stop at nothing to get what they want.” When Asgore spoke, everyone fell silent. Even the Dickhead who was telling her to press charges. Sans was pretty sure that was her boss. “I will personally take care of the expenses, if that is your concern.”  


There was silence for a moment. Sans could just barely hear her clearing her throat and coughing. There was the soft clink of china; Papyrus must have served tea. King Asgore loved tea and it probably helped Jim’s throat.  


“Well, your Majesty, if you are insistent, then… the New Ebbot Police Department would be glad to keep the case open.” Dickhead sounded only vaguely appeased. “But my detective will need to press charges against this Sans. We can’t stand for our officers to be injured in the line of duty. He will need to be punished.”  


“Of course, Chief.”  


Asgore was gonna turn him over? Sans rubbed his sternum.  


“There Was Something I Wanted To Discuss Regarding My Brother, If I May?”  


Papyrus didn’t ask permission from anyone. He was only deferring to Asgore’s superior position. Obviously the King would entertain anything Papyrus suggested; Papyrus had been an excellent Captain of the Royal Guard. He had been harsh, stringent, terrifying. He had been tactical and brilliant, even defeating the King in a duel once. Sans still had nightmares about that fight.  


“Go ahead, Captain.”  


“I Agree That Continuing The Operation Is Best For All Of Monsterkind. However, In Order To Do That We Will Need To Participate In The Fighting Rings. Jim Has Gotten Us An Invitation For An Event Roughly A Month Out.”  


What was Pap leading up to? Sans felt his brow bone scrunch as he focused harder; he had a strange tingling in his magic. Something was going to happen.  


“What is your plan, Captain?”  


“I Suggest My Brother Fight, In Exchange For Amnesty For Any Crimes Committed During The Operation. He’d Be Cooperating With Us As An Adjunct.”  


“What?!?” Her outrage thrilled Sans. “Boss, he needs therapy! He needs peace! He doesn’t need to be thrown in the ring! He didn’t fight the entire time they had him and--”  


Something silenced her. She sounded like she was on the verge of tears. He could practically feel her seething on the other side of the door.  


“I actually think that is a marvelous idea, Captain.” There was something in Asgore’s tone, pride maybe. It made Sans’ bones feel small and his vision swam. They wanted him to actually fight? Get back in the ring and aim his magic at another Monster? Wasn’t the whole point of coming to the Surface to be free of that toxic Kill or Be Killed mentality?  


He found his breathing picking up, something sharp and acrid tasting building in his mouth. Sweat beaded on his skull, making lazy paths down his temple and along his nasal ridge.  


“I’m not agreeing to this. That Monster attacked one of my officers.” Dickhead sounded like he was going to blow a gasket. It didn’t settle Sans’ roiling magic, although it did force a smirk to curve his mouth.  


“If you can convince your brother to fight, Captain, I will not only fund this whole operation, I will get every crime expunged. He will not be punished for lending aid.”  


“You can’t do that!”  


“On the contrary, I am the King. This is _still_ my city. I can do as I see fit.” Asgore’s low growl held all of the authority of his position. The title may be superficial but he _was_ the elected official. New Ebbot had a Monster majority population and they’d chosen to remain under his diligent leadership. It put him in a superior position to this Dickhead.  


He heard some scuffing, like a chair scooting against stone. He took that as a cue to turn tail and teleported to room he’d been left in. He lounged on the couch in much the same position he’d seen Jimmi in. A door slammed in the hallway, muffled voices continued and then the door to this room creaked open.  


He twisted himself to see over the arm of the sofa. Darkness was a familiar environment and so didn’t hinder his vision. She leaned against the door, tears making shining trails down her face. _humans are so gross_. His mouth twisted, torn between disgust and trying to offer a little smirk to lift her spirits. Stars he was so mixed up. He rubbed his sternum.  


“sup?”  


She didn’t say anything, just stared at him. He wasn’t sure if her expression was pitying or sympathetic. He definitely didn’t want one and wasn’t sure if he wanted the other. Then she left, slipping through a door on the other side of the television. He could just barely hear water start to run. He turned his attention back to the comedian. This Chappelle Show thing was pretty funny. He’d have to hunt down the disks and watch it from scratch at some point.  


He was halfway through another episode when Papyrus finally entered. Jimmi hadn’t left what Sans assumed was her room, the water still running.  


“Sans?”  


He met his brother’s eye lights.  


“Do You Agree?”  


He’d had time to think it over. Not much time, but time nonetheless. It was either get thrown in jail for something he didn’t even really remember doing, where he knew he’d be killed, or fight and have a chance at freedom. He felt sick, like he was stuck in the Underground all over again. Kill or Be Killed. He sent his brother a faux lazy grin. It was an expression he’d worn often in the Underground to hide his feelings. Feelings were weak and weak Monsters were killed. His hand found his sternum again, rubbing viciously.  


“not like i have much of a choice.”


	7. Entry 7: Mission Prep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You get a glimpse of your partner's pre-surface relationship with his brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 100 Kudos? I'm so happy I could cry. I did squeal and jump around a bit. Thank you all so very much!  
**Trigger Warning:** blood, death, domestic violence.  
If I missed any triggers, please let me know. Enjoy the shitshow!

Your fingers traced along the bruises absently. They were better, mottled and green instead of that deep purple. Your nose brace could finally be removed. It was tender but healing. It was too hard to explain what could have given an entitled rich woman a broken nose without sounding unbelievable. Your fingers trailed down your nose to your neck, where the faint lines of Sans’ hand were, green-yellow much like your facial bruising.  


His strength was so surprising. Even Papyrus hadn’t been aware of how strong his brother was. It had caused some curiosity, which led to the current situation-- tense dinner conversations and constant training. Papyrus wasn’t known for his patience and it was clear that something was going on between him and his brother. Something they were leaving you out of.  


You could faintly hear their training now, even though they were deep into the property’s private forest. Trees fell and something that sounded an awful lot like a laser fired off at random intervals. You wanted to know what they could be doing to make those noises. Magic was still heavily controlled in city limits so not many humans knew how Monsters’ magic manifested. It kept the Queen from being allowed to heal you.  


You took one last look at your marred face before shuffling down to the kitchen. Papyrus had kept you to a broth only diet for the first week of your recovery. It was smart, since it wouldn’t require much muscle contraction from your battered esophagus. But it left you ravenous for something more substantial. You still couldn’t eat anything really solid, the muscles were still too bruised, but Toriel had snuck in pudding cups during their visit.  


Your shuffling increased. You still couldn’t move too much, the bruising along your spine and ribs was worse than the bruising on your face. You counted back through how many you’d personally eaten and how many Toriel had left. If you counted right, you should still have two left, as long as Sans hadn’t eaten any of them. You’d ring that skeleton’s bell if he ate your damn pudding cups.  


The light from the fridge cast a beautiful halo around the last pudding cup. You were sure you should have one more but your memory since the incident was a little fuzzy, you could be off. You snatched the chocolatey dessert from the shelf and hunted for a spoon. The kitchen was one of those elaborate pinterest-board worthy things meant for either a chef or some pretentious rich asshole.  


In your quest for a spoon you hadn’t noticed that there were no more explosions or localized mini-earthquakes from trees falling. That there hadn’t been for several minutes. Your mind was too busy trying to keep track of which drawer you’d just opened so that you wouldn’t open it again as you moved down the long line. Surely one of these stupid things would have spoons!  


“--FUCKING SERIOUS!!!”  


Oh. Pap didn’t swear. Not often. Your head perked up like a marmot from the ground. Sans burst into the kitchen from the back door, his rage painted clearly across his skull. Papyrus was not far behind, stalking the shorter skeleton’s steps like a vengeful shadow.  


“YOU CAN’T HOLD BACK YOU LAZY MONGREL!”  


“s’only trainin’ pap. s’not that big a deal.”  


“ONLY TRAINING!?!?!”  


He reached for the smaller skeleton and grasped his shoulder joints. You could hear how tight the hold was, the bone creaked under Papyrus’ strength.  


“WITH AN ATTITUDE LIKE THAT YOU DESERVE TO BE DUSTED!”  


You could hear the little whine of desperation in Papyrus’ voice. He was terrified to lose his brother. But definitely going about it all the wrong way.  


“maybe i wanna be dusted, ever think ‘bout tha’?”  


Sans whirled on his brother, eye lights blazing. There was something broken and hopeless in his vibrant eye lights. Papyrus seemed dumbstruck for a moment, his maw an open, silent chasm.  


“Why?” His voice was reedy and it cracked at the end, as if that single word had so much weight he was crumbling beneath it.  


“‘cuz i’m tired, pap. m’tired a’bein’ told ta fight fer humans. buncha assholes don’ care what happens ta anya’us.” Sans threw his arm out in a sweeping gesture. Neither of them registered that you were there.  


“Fight For Me. Fight To Be Free To Come Home With Me.” He sounded younger, smaller somehow.  


“heh. nah. i still got scars from th’last time i fought fer yas.” Sans tapped at his chest, his scar apparently hidden beneath his baggy shirt.  


Color, bright and glowing, settled in Papyrus’ face. His mouth twitched at the corner, his eyes narrowed. A growl worked its way out of his maw and he struck, a heavy clawed hand coming across Sans’ skull. The smaller Monster staggered from the force of the blow. The sound of bone on bone, cushioned only by a thin layer of leather, was sickening. It sounded like stones tumbling, cracking, crumbling.  


You couldn’t stand by, jumping over the counter despite screaming muscles. You slipped yourself between Papyrus and Sans. Your heart was racing; you were aware this was a very stupid decision. These were two giant Monsters, dangerous and brimming with magic and violent Intent.  


“Boss! What the hell!?”  


Your arms were thrown wide, as if to cover any exposed area on Sans. They would need to be a lot longer to actually cover all of that real estate. But your glare pinned your partner just fine. His gaze focused on yours, eye lights shrinking as if he was just realizing what he’d done.  


“Jim…” His gaze traveled from you to his brother. Whatever he read in Sans’ expression made his face blank.  


“Whatever the hell you two were arguing about isn’t enough to put your hands on your brother outside of training!” Your voice is firm. You feel like you’re channeling your mother and that she would be proud of you.  


You turned slowly, carefully, keeping your partner in your sight. You’d never pegged him for the violent type. You’d heard rumors that he’d been an exceptional rage machine at the start, picking fights with everyone. But with you he’d just been a mouthy, cocky asshole until that singular moment that changed the tone of your relationship forever. Even back then you couldn’t see him being so brutal in his treatment of his _brother_ of all people. He loved Sans more than anyone.  


Sans had righted himself and was looking down at you with an unreadable expression. You weren’t as familiar with his face, you didn’t know his tics, so you couldn’t tell what he was feeling the same way you could with Papyrus. You reached out to capture his skull with gentle hands. He didn’t respond at first, too busy glaring down his brother. There were no visible cracks but you were sure the spot had to be tender and were careful as your fingers brushed over his skull.  


His hands, boney and large, settled on your shoulders. You tensed under the weight of them, mind immediately flashed back to when they were around your throat. Muscles tensed, sweat beaded and fear prickled along your spine. Shit.  


“don’ need ya help. don’ need help from any stinkin’ humans.”  


Despite the venom in his words he was gentle as he pushed you from him. His touch lingered slightly, his mouth twitching at the corner, before he gave his brother one last glare. Then he was gone. There was a small ‘pop’ as air rushed to fill the space he’d occupied.  


You turned to Papyrus. His face was twisted with barely concealed rage. Nope. N o p e.  


“Boss!” Your shout drew his vicious gaze. “I can’t believe you.”  


“YOU OF ALL PEOPLE DON’T GET TO JUDGE!”  


Oh. You felt the muscles in your face pull tight, your mouth turning into a line.  


“This is _so_ different.”  


“IS IT?”  


Words stuck in your throat. He should know it was different. You’d trusted him with that and he was going to throw it back in your face. You floundered for a witty retort, something to show him you weren’t as hurt by all of this as you seemed. But you were. You thought you knew your partner. You thought he was cool under fire and commanding and the best cop in the district.  


You knew some of them beat their wives, their children, perps. Papyrus had never used unnecessary force in all of the years you knew him. But from the look on Sans’ face, from the look on Papyrus’ face, that was not the first time he’d laid hands on his brother. Your chest hurt, your ribs ached, and tears threatened your tired eyes.  


You stopped fighting for words and turned heel, storming away from your partner with all of the disdain you could muster. Not for Papyrus, you two had too much history for you to dismiss him for this, but for his actions. You couldn’t condone it. No amount of stress or anger should lead you to strike your family.  


Your fists clenched as you stomped up the stairs. _Blood painted the walls. His leg twitches from death spasms, neurons still firing despite the bullet lodged in his brain. Your mother’s sobs and wails from the other side of the door were slowing but hard to hear under the blood rushing through your ears. The silence after the gun had gone off was almost as deafening as its roar._ A weak whimper worked its way up your throat. Even after all these years…  


Hands covered your upper arms, the grasp gentle. You whirled your head, eyes wide and tear filled. Your face felt wet as your hand covered your mouth. When did the tears start actually falling? Papyrus’ gaze was gentle, remorseful.  


“I’m Sorry. I Shouldn’t Have Brought That Up.” His gentle hands helped you stand. When had you sunk onto the stairs? “You’re Right. It’s Not The Same.”  


Your body shook and finally you caved, sobbing freely. He wound his gangly limbs around you and hefted you up like a small child. You buried your head in his chest and tried to stifle the cries coming from the depths of your Soul. It still hurt so much. Your hands fisted over your chest.  


“wha’s goin’ on?” Sans voice came from somewhere ahead of you. Your gaze was fixed on Papyrus’ shirt. It was one you’d bought him a year into your partnership. He said he hated your puns, but ‘bad to the bone’ was emblazoned in bold red print across the tee and it had never failed to make him smirk.  


“Nothing. We’ll Talk Later Sans.”  


His tone as he dismissed his brother was gentle. You appreciate his effort; this was the partner you knew. He settled you down in the den of your joined rooms and took your face in his hand. He turned it one way and then the other, inspecting the condition. Your crying had agitated your sinuses and blood leaked from your nose. You sniffled to keep it from dripping but you were fighting a losing battle.  


He didn’t scold you, as he once had, for being a disgusting human. Instead he found a box of medicated tissues and dabbed at the blood, guiding you to lean your head back. Coppery liquid dripped down your throat.  


“Hold There And I Will Make A Cold Compress. You Need To Rest.”  


You nodded and then a thought slapped you like a Stooge.  


“I forgot my pudding cup on the counter.”  


It was good to hear both of the skeletons chuckle.


	8. Entry 8: First Strike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans goes through his first tournament.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has commented and given kudos and dropped by to read! You guys just make my day!  
If I didn't reply to your comment, I'm not ignoring you, promise. I just have no clue how to express how happy I am you're interacting with me/my story and I'm not sure what to say. But I love you guys!  
Back to the shitshow!  
** Trigger Warning**: Violence, Death.

Forty five. Fifty. A whole fifty cents under the drivers’ seat. Sans wondered if he should mention it. Probably not, the human would take it as an opening to start talking to him. He didn’t want that. Oh, that grey lump was probably gum. It looked harder than some of the calculus equations he’d been fiddling with a few days ago. He’d have to let Papyrus know the rental wasn’t as clean as he thought. Sans almost snickered at the thought of his oh so tidy baby brother fussing over that little grey lump.  


“Hangin’ in there big guy?”  


Her voice jolted him from his musings. He grunted in response and tried to get lost in the cavern under her seat. It kept him from thinking about how uncomfortable he was, jammed between the front row of seats and the small bench in the back of the sports car. It wasn’t big skeleton friendly and he’d laid on his left side for so long he was sure he had bruises on some of his bones.  


“The cuffs too tight?”  


“nah.”  


She let silence take back over the cabin of the car after that. He knew she was trying to create some sort of ‘working relationship’ with him. Papyrus had said she would and that Sans should let her befriend him, that she was funny and kind and sweet. Nah. No thanks. Hard pass. He didn’t want to deal with humans more than was necessary right now. It was bad enough he had to live with her and saw her at every meal and on the occasions he sought out his brother’s company. If he made friends with her she might do that _human_ thing and try to spend _more_ time with him. Ew. He tried to ignore the weird fluttery feeling in his Soul. It didn’t know what it was doing.  


He closed his sockets and focused on why he was doing this. It fueled him. He was doing this for Papyrus. Even with all of their dysfunction and abuse, Papyrus was all he had. Pap would always be his precious babybones. He’d raised the little shit after their dad had his little accident. Sans had sacrificed everything while they were Underground and he couldn’t stop doing that now; it was a Soul deep compulsion.  


Besides, how had Pap put it? _I’m Not The Great And Terrible Papyrus Without You, Sans._ He’d bet his last paycheck that it had taken at least three years of therapy for Papyrus to admit that to himself. Sans was sure it had taken all ten years of his life on the Surface, all six years of therapy, and all seven years of his datemate’s influence, to actually say that to Sans. Which was why he was stuffed in the back of this stupid human contraption, thirty minutes into a forty five minute drive, so that he could Dust some Monsters and entertain some filthy humans. For Papyrus.  


She hummed softly to the radio, clearly not comfortable with the silence. Sans’ eyelights rolled in his sockets. Her feet were bare and the left one was bouncing quickly, to no particular beat. He watched her foot move from the gas to the break, pressing gently with the ball of it. Human feet were particularly gross, with their blunt toes and those flimsy nails. All pink and fleshy. Still… he found he kinda liked the arch of her foot.  


The car jerked about sharply; she was maneuvering into a parking spot. It was the only thing he could think of needing to be done at this low of a speed. Sure enough, she put the car in park and turned it off. Her arm shot out across the small space separating the front and the back bench. A small space his too large frame was surely stuck in. He felt a little queasy, watching the muscles and flesh move and jiggle.  


Once she’d put on the absolutely ridiculous shoes she had to wear she’d had to help him out of the car. Well, help him as much as she could. The reality was that ‘help’ meant tug at the leash and give him disgusted looks and hurl insults his way as he struggled to free his cramped, tense bones from their prison. And there was nothing he could do about it; no swearing, no growling, no dirty looks. He had to keep his head down and shoulders hunched while he shuffled behind her, chains limiting his movement. Human eyes were on them. He was no longer Sans and she was no longer Jimmi.  


The building they entered was just another one of Ebbot’s seedy, run down warehouses. It probably used to be owned by some big company. A lot of them had left when Monsters were released from Quarantine and allowed to integrate into society. Humans were packed like pickles in a jar; some room to move but not much. Fragrant smoke and the sharp smell of alcohol filled the air. Sans felt his bones shudder and tingle. Sobriety had been forced on him during his imprisonment; right now he’d _kill_ for a glass of bourbon and a cigar. Heh. His mouth almost curled into a smirk at his own dark humor.  


He was tugged over to a corner where a thin, pale man with orange hair was chatting up a couple of hefty men in black. A little black book was nestled beneath his arm. Jimmi cleared her throat and the man turned. The stench of desire made Sans want to run bleach through his sinus cavity.  


“Who ya bettin’ on, darlin’?” The red haired man purred, his accent a little strange.  


“Reaper.”  


Oh? Crimson eyelights flicked over to her.  


“Ah, the dark harse. Odds ain’t in his favor, darlin’. Meself? I’d bet on Click. Won his last three foights.”  


“I’ll keep my bet where it’s at.”  


“Awrigh’ darlin’. Yer loss.”  


She handed over a wad of cash, produced from her cleavage. Did that shit really work? Sans glanced at the red-head to noticed that yeah, it worked. Pupils expanded, a salacious grin curved his thin lips, and he leaned forward, fingers lingering during the exchange. His phalanges twitched with the urge to strangle the strange man.  


If the man got too close he might see through her little disguise. Sans tried to use that to quantify his violent response, even though it didn’t really work. Papyrus was really good with make-up; she’d not looked at all like herself once he’d finished painting her face.  


Sans kept his gaze low as she led him past the bouncers to a staircase. Her movements were slow, almost agonizingly so. He was sure it had something to do with those ridiculous shoes. He remembered a time when a woman wearing those kinds of heels would turn him into a puddle or a growling mess, depending on what they wanted. Now? The sight of her muscles flexing, the arch of her foot, the veins that _just_ showed along the bones made him nauseous.  


The lower floor was a sort of meet and greet for the ‘owners’. She bought a drink, although he never saw her sip from it, she did bring it to her lips once or twice, faking the motion. None of the others had their Monsters with them, meaning he stood out even further. His hulking frame easily drew attention. Men came over to offer her advice. It didn’t escape Sans’ notice that the ‘owners club’ was a giant sausage fest. He felt violent urges every time she passed a male, leaving him confused. He had no problem controlling them but he had to wonder _why_. Maybe it was just naturally triggered by that horrible smell that humans emitted when aroused?  


“Won’t get anywhere with that fighter.” One guy commented, to receive a cold glare from her.  


“I’ll take him off your hand for four g.” G? Sans was pretty sure Monster currency had been discontinued years ago and that the man was using some slang Sans couldn’t currently remember.  


“Nah, maybe three and a half.”  


“I’ll take him for free, jus’ let me clap them cheeks.”  


That one made him growl and crowd a little closer to her, though it was more from his lecherous tone and expression than an understanding of his verbiage.  


“Hard pass guys. My Reaper’s worth more.”  


He almost purred. Almost. His eyelights slid over to her and he had to wonder, _did she know?_ Did she know it had been him under all that black and red leather? Behind the wheel of the Charger that beat her Mustang every single time? Calling him Reaper for these fights couldn’t have been coincidence.  


Sans had almost worked himself into fit by the time they’d gotten to the holding room. The heavy, judgemental gaze of every single one of those filthy humans in the room they’d just left weighed on his bones. He wanted to go back there and end _all_ of them. His bones felt too small with the way his magic pushed against them.  


The room she led him into was dark. The guards closed the door behind them, not even bothering to flick on any lights. She had to pull out her cell phone to illuminate the room. She pushed it into his hands and went to work unchaining his wrists and ankles.There was something...tingly about having her crouched before him.  


“You gonna be alright back here?” Her voice was soft. She didn’t want the guards to overhear her addressing ‘her’ Monster in any way that could be considered ‘kind’.  


“th’underground was worse than this.” He matched her volume.  


She seemed uncomfortable leaving him. Her brow was furrowed, her lips pursed. She looked almost...concerned. Her fingers worked at the locks on his wrists quickly, yanking the chains from his bones with jerky motions.  


“‘ey dollface, why’dya gimme the name reapa anyway?”  


Might as well satisfy his curiosity before he was thrown in the ring.  


“Oh. He was… He was this guy I kinda had a thing for.” She paused, her hands fiddling with the chains. She didn’t seem like she could meet his gaze. “He had red skulls painted on his helmet. You kinda remind me of him.”  


He couldn’t help the way his mouth twitched. In another life, another dimension maybe, he’d be undamaged and worthy. He’d get to her before Pap. He’d get a chance to date her. But not now; she was Pap’s and she was disgustingly human. His eyelights grew dim for a moment, silently mourning how a handful of disgusting humans had completely ruined his kink for their kind. Her mouth, way too flexible and fleshy and expressive, twisted to give him a little mouth-shrug. It was almost like a smile but sympathy weighed down the corners.  


A ding and a red light turning on above the door let her know it was time for her to leave. Her allotted five minutes of preparing him for a fight were over. He handed her back the cell phone and she hung the chains by the door. She cast a glance over her shoulder, too close to other humans to utter any form of encouragement, so her gaze was cool and detached.  


“Don’t disappoint me.”  


The cold, haughty delivery of the sharp words stung. He could easily believe _this_ was the real her, not the act she put on with Papyrus. He rolled his neck, his spinal column tense, but the heavy metal collar kept his motions limited. He tugged at it, pulling the ring of metal around his neck like a hula-hoop. The device didn’t work, Alphys had disabled it, but he had to wear it to complete the illusion.  


There were a few benches scattered around the small room. He settled onto one. It creaked under his weight. The other Monsters kept away from him. He couldn’t blame them. They had long since learned to not make friends with the Monsters they were going to have to kill or maim. He sprawled out on the bench, looking every inch the cocky layabout his brother had always accused him of being.  


Under that careless exterior he was analyzing his opponents. They were fidgeting, restless, stressed. A Bunny Monster was fussing with their fur, shedding in heavy clumps that couldn’t be healthy. A Whimsun cowered in the corner. They were usually bait Monsters, meaning that this one was a last resort. If it lost…. Well it was a better fate to be Dusted in the ring than deal with its owner later. A Vegetoid was rolling around, attempting to nap and recover, but failing to get any meaningful rest. Their leaves looked frayed and wilted; they likely were bait as well.  


A Woshua had lumped itself into a corner, refusing to acknowledge its surroundings. Couldn’t blame a Monster for not wanting to be here. It smelled chalky, dank, and just the slightest like overcooked cabbage. There was a telltale drip in the corner; if the lights were turned on Sans would bet mold would be growing, fuzzy and dark, from every corner.  


The final Monster his eyelights landed on was a Cat. It looked to be in much better shape than the others. In lower ranked fights, like this one, it wasn’t uncommon for bait to be used. Sans had heard a lot of conversations over the years, between the scientist and his cronies and the people buying from him. Bait being used to actually fight in these lower ranked fights was a move a lot of inexperienced owners made. Being too poor to afford a proper fighter was also a factor.  


Sans appraised what was clearly a _real_ fighter. Their fur was better kept than the Bunny and they were sharpening their claws. They couldn’t be out of their stripes yet. They were raised in this world of Dust and darkness. Yellow eyes met his lights and the Cat grinned. It was more of a bearing of fangs, which Sans reciprocated. Sans was larger overall, his teeth like blades instead of needles. The kid had to have been in a few fights before, but it had never faced a Monster like him, and his vicious grin made the smaller Monster shudder. They did a good job of repressing it but Sans was extremely observant when it suited him.  


“First Match up! Tzar and Roller!” A voice called, probably from a sound system based on the static and popping that accompanied the announcement.  


The Woshua and the Bunny walked up to a wall. There was a low buzz before the wall lifted. Automated doors, Sans made note of the placement. It meant either there were cameras or a pressure sensor somewhere. He buried his hands in his pockets and slouched further. Even if this building had been owned by a big name company, sensors and cameras wouldn’t have been left behind; they were too expensive. Which meant that whoever controlled these rings brought in their own tech. That shit wouldn’t be cheap so it stood to reason that these locations were more or less permanent. It would be valuable information for Papyrus.  


The sounds of the fight were muffled by the concrete walls. All Sans could make out was the occasional shout. The feeling of the other Monsters’ magic was weak. Definitely bait. He found himself rubbing his bruised sternum, running claws along the long healed scar. Pap definitely had a favorite spot to aim for.  


“AND WE HAVE OUR WINNER!!!”  


The cheers drowned out who won, but the Bunny Monster stumbled back into the dark room looking exhausted. They plopped onto a bench opposite him and curled into themselves. Dust covered their patchy fur.  


“Round Two! Fresh and Reaper!”  


Sans stood, his bones popping and grinding against each other as he rolled his neck and shoulders. His collar clanked ominously against his bones and he saw the Vegetoid flinch. The diminutive Monster shuffled over to the wall and Sans followed suit. His magic surged and tingled along his bones as the wall raised itself.  


The fighting pit was illuminated by flood lights, blindingly bright. Sans strolled out, gait almost lazy. He almost felt like he was back Underground with the artificial lighting, the chalky scent of Dust, and the angry buzz of his magic pressing against his bones. Almost. The countless fleshy faces peering down at him, sipping from their solo cups, flicking ash off their cigs, kept the illusion from being complete. He didn’t bother suppressing the growl that climbed up his rib cage.  


He turned to face the Vegetoid. They’d put on a brave face considering that he was probably ten times their size. His trademark grin crawled across his skull, showcasing his sharpened teeth. The gold one reflected light back to the smaller Monster. A bell dinged and the Vegetoid pooled their magic to summon pellets.  


Too bad. Sans wasn’t in this for sport or torture; he’d make quick work of this round. He flexed his left hand, feeling the way his magic throbbed and tugged, begging to be used. A line of bones shot up from the ground, jagged and covered in red miasma. The other Monster sent him a grateful grin as the bones speared through their body. They lost their color, turning grey, before crumbling into a pile of dust. Their magic swirled and danced with his own for a moment before it was consumed, converted, increasing his ExP.  


A tingle took root in the sharp tips of his phalanges from the increase. It wasn’t enough to bump up his LoV, he already had such a high LoV it would take quite a few fights to get him there, or at least one or two good fights. He rolled his shoulders as he shuffled back to the wall, ignoring the oppressive silence from the humans. They hadn’t gotten the show they wanted. Good.  


Once back in the relative comfort of the dark holding room, he dropped himself onto the bench he’d claimed earlier. The door dropped back down and left the building in silence. The other Monsters were twitchy; his return seemed to validate something for them. The announcer spoke quieter for a moment, too quiet for Sans to hear through the wall. He closed his sockets and settled his spine against the wall. The room was kept cold enough to be uncomfortable for most Monsters. As a Skeleton he wasn’t affected as much, his bones always warm from the magic that thrummed through them.  


He was scuffing the toe of his sneaker against the ground when the next fight was announced; they had apparently taken a small intermission.  


“Fight Three! Whine and Click!”  


The Cat and Whimsun took their places by the doors. Sans’ eyelights had finally adapted to the blackness of the room. There were no cameras, the walls were operated by sensors. He couldn’t tell if they were pressure sensors, like at the supermarket, or if they were magic sensors. Regardless, the Cat Monster flexed their magic, attempting to be intimidating. While they would no doubt be a decent opponent, they were still just a kid.  


The doors opened, they went into the blinding light of the arena, and Sans slouched further into the bench. He could go for a nap. At least in his dreams he wasn’t in this human-manufactured Underground, fighting just to be allowed to exist. In his dreams, he was having Sunday dinner with Pap, who would probably rag on him for being late or buying a subpar dessert or for drinking a little too much before hopping on his bike. The golden days.  


It wasn’t long, maybe two or three minutes, not enough time for Sans to fall into even a slight doze, before the Cat returned. Figures. It didn’t seem like a fair match up. Whimsuns were always timid, shy little creatures. The Cat seemed...dissatisfied but still they strutted back to their bench and went back to sharpening their now Dust coated claws.  


“Reaper and Tzar!”  


Sans heaved a sigh before standing. He was only on his second fight and he was already done. He had plenty of magic to spare, he could still put up one Hell of a fight, but he didn’t want to. The Surface was supposed to be a better place than the Underground. His fists clenched as he stepped out into those bright lights. People were still chatting and excited from the last fight.  


He shoved his hands into his pockets and waited for the bell. It chimed, low and ominous, and the Bunny shifted into action. They were quick, darting around the circular arena, making Sans whirl about to keep the Monster in his sight. He just needed a fraction of a second to get a good visual lock on the speedy creature. His magic was bubbling, coming to his call easier and quicker. Humans were cheering, whether it was for him or his opponent he didn’t know, and didn’t care.  


He followed their movements, darting out of the way as they tried to rush him. A twitch of his fingers during that split second when the Bunny almost collided with the Skeleton, and _**SQUELCH**_. A bone, almost as tall and thick as Sans, materialized and skewered his opponent. Red smoke rolled off the bone, leeching the life of everything it touched, aiding the Dusting process. This fight was a little better than the last, thanks to his opponents speed, but it didn’t give him much ExP. His palm tingled now.  


There were a few scattered cheers. He glanced up at the crowd. She was there, keeping her mask in place, but there was something about her eyes that gave him pause. He felt that weird fluttery feeling return, like his Soul had been zapped and was trying to shake off the tingles. He turned to go back to the darkness and was met with the intense, excited face of the Cat Monster.  


“Last Fight! Reaper and the reigning champion! Click!” The announcer’s voice wavered.  


They usually gave little breathers between fights. He could see where weaker Monsters would have trouble facing off against this Cat if this was how all of the fights were conducted.  


“‘ey kid. only chance m’gonna give ya. forfeit. now.” He kept his voice low so that the humans wouldn’t overhear.  


“Why would I do that?”  


“ta save ya fur, kid. ya dunno what ya up against an’ ya just a kid. don’ want ya dust on my hands.”  


The kid seemed to consider their options for a second. Clearly no one had ever shown the scrawny feline mercy before. Their yellow eyes returned to his face, desperate and hopeless.  


“Sorry guy, I don’t have much of a choice.”  


The kid launched into an attack, swiping at Sans with the claws he’d spent so many rounds sharpening. Magic buzzed along the needle like extensions. Sans slipped to the side, the strike narrowly missing his ribs.  


“ya always have a choice, kid.”  


They struck again, narrowly missing Sans’ sternum as he ‘ported just out of arm’s reach. The Cat Monster blinked rapidly, processing that their enemy literally phased through space in the blink of an eye. Their tail was flicking back and forth in agitation.  


“dontchya wanna be free? not hafta fight yer own kind? ya deserve ta be a kid.”  


“‘Course I wanna be free.” Another swipe, another miss. “Everyone does.”  


Sans focused only on keeping out of range of the attacks, dancing away to give the kid time to consider. Surely he could convince Pap’s partner to do something, work some deal out, to get the kid out of this. They had their whole life ahead of them, a chance at an actual childhood, if Sans played this right.  


“then stop fightin’. forfeit. i can getchya outta hea’.” Another dodge. Sweat beaded on Sans’ skull. The arena was kept uncomfortably warm by the powerful lights and it took a lot more energy to dodge than to just attack.  


“Stop. Moving. So. Much.” The kid slashed at him between words, teeth grinding and brow furrowed in concentration. “If. You. Just. Die. I. Have. A chance.”  


“wha?” Sans almost tripped over his untied laces. Probably should have checked those before the fight. The claws got too close, snagging his shirt, shredding the fabric. Sans didn’t bother to think further, his magic gathered and he teleported to the other side of the arena.  


He passed through the Void in less than a blink and brought a friend with him. A hush fell over the cheering humans. The Blaster hovered behind his shoulder and opened it’s fanged maw, gathering energy.  


“yo, kid.” The Cat whirled about to face him, eyes going comically wide. “wrong choice.”  


The blaster fired. The air filled with charred dust and the smell of burnt fur and ozone. Humans had ducked down, covering their ears to protect against the roar of the blaster. Sans dismissed his weapon with a careless wave of phalanges and looked around at the humans.  


They were cowering, drinks had spilled and fallen into the arena. There was a gaping hole in the wall on the opposite side. He had shown a drop of his power and they feared him. His lights sought out a specific pair of eyes. Her expression was neutral and eyes still so unreadable. He felt judged. He snarled and felt his magic jump in response. They _should_ be afraid of him. They made him the Monster he was now. If it weren’t for _them_...  


A wave of crimson energy slammed into the arena walls, crackling like electricity and cracking the walls like a dam under too much pressure. The warehouse shook and rumbled with aftershocks of his tantrum. He wanted them scared. He turned heel and trudged back to the holding pen, his arms tingled.  


He was left in that dark room for a long time, longer than he’d expected. He’d walked the walls, searching for any hidden cameras or sensors. He wanted to snag one for Papyrus. He hadn’t found any that were easy to access. They were probably embedded in the concrete and would take a little bit of force and magic to pull free. He didn’t want to run the chance of damaging any of them. Since he was left with a whole lot of nothing to do, he’d gone back to lounging after his exploration, completely forgetting to tie his laces.  


The red light above the door lit up before the door swung open. Sans’ maw was open before he registered the forms emerging from the much brighter hall.  


“ey dollface, took ya long….enough…” He trailed off, noticing that three figures entered the room. Three _male_ figures.  


“Hah, who do ya think ‘dollface’ is?”  


“Probably his owner.”  


He recognized two of them as being the ones who had offered to take him off of Jimmi’s hands. His phalanges twitched and magic bubbled. But he didn’t think he could get away with attacking them. He clenched his jaw shut, grinding his teeth, to help him feel a little more in control of the situation.  


“I’ve spoken to your owner.” This male he didn’t recognize but something about him had Sans’ magic buzzing in warning. “She owes me a fighter. You bested Click. She agreed that you could be given up in place of her winnings.”  


Oh. So that’s how this ring was run. He got the victor of the last fight or the cash. Sans felt a growl work its way up his ribs. He didn’t see Papyrus’ partner being okay with this arrangement and he had the distinct feeling that Click’s previous owners hadn’t been okay with it either. They crowded closer, trying to back Sans into a corner. He let them, knowing that he could just blip his happy ass over to the door before they could do anything to him.  


“i don’ think dollface woulda jus’ handed me ova. kinda fond’a my boney ass.”  


The man chuckled.  


“You’ve got a mouth on you. She hasn’t broken you, yet. Figures. I’ll fix that.”  


The human dug his hand into his pants pocket and Sans felt his magic gather, readying him for a jump. The door banged open and something clicked. The humans whirled around and Sans gave a quick glance to the silhouette in the doorway. _Jimmi_.  


“I hope I’m not intruding.” She had a gun pointed at them and the look in her eyes was dangerous. It made Sans’ bones crawl and his Soul tingled.  


“Not at all ‘dollface’.” The way the man spat Sans’ little nickname had Sans snarling.  


“Good. Then you won’t mind if I take my champion home.”  


She stepped into the room. Sans eyelights flickered down. She’d taken off her heels, leaving her barefoot. Ew. As if human feet weren’t gross enough.  


“I don’t think you understand how I run this ring. I always win. Even if your champion wins, _I win_. I get the champion or you hand over the winnings. Simple.”  


“Oh, I understand.” She stepped closer, her strides longer without the heels. The men weren’t intimidated by her, even with the weapon pressed into their ‘leader’s’ chest.  


“I understand perfectly that you’ve been bullying all the newcomers out of their winnings or their fighters. I understand that you _think_ you’re the big shot around here.”  


She kept advancing, slower this time, pushing the leader inexorably towards Sans. He stood his ground, a grin began to spread across his skull.  


“Let me clarify something for you, hot shot. I’m not like the other pussies you’ve pushed around. I won’t be cowed. I’m taking my earnings and I’m taking my champion. _Capiche?_”  


The man’s back bumped into Sans’ chest. He growled, a low rumble of sound, and glared down at the human. The sight of his oh so gleeful grin made the man’s complexion pale in a way that Jimmi and her gun couldn’t accomplish. Sans watched the little lump in the man’s throat bobble as he swallowed.  


“Yeah. I hear ya. Loud and clear.”  


“Good. Come, Reaper.”  


He didn’t need to be told twice. She turned on her heel and he followed, a grin still in place. The human males didn’t make another move. Sans looked down at the little human woman. She was shaking; she had been scared, the tang of her fear lingering on her skin. And yet she’d put on a great face and intimidated men larger and infinitely more vile than her. Maybe Pap’s human wasn’t completely awful. Plus she _did_ say ‘capiche’ and that tickled him in a way he didn’t fully understand.


	9. Entry 9: Professionalism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You take advantage of a situation to make Sans laugh. And like it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took four rewrites because I wasn't sure if I was moving too fast, or how I wanted this to happen, but I can't keep editing and rewriting forever. I'm not sure how I feel about it but I don't hate it.  
I actually think this is the tamest of the chapters so far. I don't know if there are any triggers, everything's pretty grey-area and light. If anyone does have issues, please let me know and I'll throw up warnings!  
AND NOW ON WITH THE SHITSHOW!!

The echo of the door slamming rang through the mostly empty house. Your glare could burn holes through the wood. Your jaw hurt from how hard you were grinding your teeth.  


“uh…”  


The low rumble made you jump. Sans was shifting from foot to slippered foot, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, and sweat was beading on his skull. The air was thick with something electric and uncomfortable. You took a deep breath through your nose. Sans hadn’t done anything wrong, hadn’t said anything wrong, so you schooled your temper as best you could.  


“Sorry you had to hear that.”  


The situation felt a lot like a little kid stumbling upon his parents in the middle of a screaming match. Which wasn’t too far from the truth, there had been some yelling. A fair bit of it. From both of you. Another deep breath.  


“s’nothin’ new.”  


Something seemed off, tense maybe? He was so hard to read. His unconscious gestures were somehow more obvious and more subtle than Papyrus’. He fidgeted, the corner of his mouth seemed tense, and he had a light sheen of sweat covering his skull. But, at the same time, there was a little grin on his face and his lights were bright and focused. He _seemed_ to be anxious but he used such mixed gestures.  


“Still, probably should have kept it down. It’s pretty late.”  


It was only 7pm but Papyrus usually called it a night at six. Except for tonight. He’d stayed up later than normal in order to catch you on your snack run and lecture you. That definitely didn’t end well. You knew he’d been dodging his therapist lately, Brian had called you and let you know about it in that ‘worried mother’ way he had, but you hadn’t expected he’d regressed so much. He hadn’t monitored your eating habits since the first six months of you two living together. Boy you two used to get into it.  


“....m’sorry.”  


You tilted your head, thoughts stopping like a derailed train. Why was he saying sorry? Had he been talking while you spaced out?  


“What’re you apologizing for?”  


“boss called ya my name.” He said that as if it was his fault that his brother was projecting. Did he get blamed for things like that often?  


“It’s not your fault. He’s been skipping his therapy.”  


Sans flinched at the anger that slipped into your voice. Oh no. It was like dealing with a battered spouse. You swallowed and held your hands out in a placating gesture.  


“That wasn’t aimed at you, big guy.”  


His hands were still twisting his shirt, but his lights stopped darting away and he lowered his shoulders from their position so close to his skull. What had been done to him to make him like this?  


“I just… I’m upset that Boss dropped the ball on his therapy when he really needs it. This case is stressful, for all of us, and he really needs to keep a handle on his issues if we’re gonna work together.”  


You kept your tone gentle and lowered your hands. You wanted to cross them over your chest but that gesture could come off aggressive and you didn’t want to put the damaged skeleton on further alert.  


“s’pose yer right.”  


You liked the sound of that. Getting Papyrus to admit you were right was always difficult, like yanking fingernails. It never felt satisfying, just draining. Something about the way Sans watched your face and the way his bones seemed to unwind as he admitted you probably knew best just felt gratifying. Like gaining the tentative trust of a shy cat. It probably would only last today but small victories are still victories.  


“Let me make it up to you.”  


“huh?”  


“That argument was extremely unprofessional. Doesn’t exactly instill confidence in our abilities and it probably made you feel very uncomfortable. I’d like to make amends.”  


You weren’t sure what drove you to jump on this idea but you wanted this skeleton to trust you. He seemed like he didn’t have anyone. He put his life on the line a few days ago for a brother that beat him, demeaned him, controlled him, and had been using you as a surrogate when Sans wasn’t around. He’d worked with you, a human he didn’t know, and you’d degraded him and treated him like an animal in order to fit into the scene. Then you’d gotten into a screaming match with the only family he has. He deserved some sort of apology. You wanted him to know you weren’t a completely garbage human being.  


“how?”  


You smiled, glad he took the bait despite the way his body hunched in and his sockets narrowed.  


“I order a pizza and we watch some movies? Boss and I usually do that on Saturdays and today is Saturday… anyway, it could be fun.” You put as much optimism as you could in your tone.  


“sure, dollface. whateva ya want.”  


There was still tension in his posture, his shoulders weren’t relaxed, his hands were in his pockets-- shoving his hands in his pockets seemed to be a defensive reflex for him, like doing it would make him seem less intimidating-- and there was still a fine sheen of red sweat on his skull. But his rough voice carried a lighter tone, almost amused but not quite.  


“What do you like on your pizza?”  


You swiped your phone off the counter to place an order with your favorite delivery place. Normally you went to a carryout-only pizza joint but Papyrus took the rental, so delivery it was. That didn’t mean you had to settle for shitty delivery. You were dialing the number when you looked up at Sans, eyes expectant.  


He was staring at you, lights small, mouth slightly agape. You weren’t sure what that expression was.  


“Sans?”  


“jus’ order yer usual. m’not a picky eata. pizza’s pizza.” He shook his head and waved his mittened hand dismissively. Your eyes lingered for a moment longer, hoping to catch some clue as to what _that_ was about.  


When there was nothing, no further expression, no hesitant movement or words, you pressed the dial button. Maybe he was like Papyrus in that he expressed himself clearly? That when he said something he meant it? It didn’t seem to fit but you didn’t want to push and find out.  


Once you’d placed the order, it didn’t take long since the people who worked there recognized your voice and knew your usual, you grabbed a few sodas from the fridge and went to meet Sans in the little den. He’d done his little disappearing act the moment you’d started talking to the employee of the pizza place.  


Your footsteps echoed, your slippers slapping the heel of your foot, as you climbed up the steps of the manor. You could hear some shuffling around in the den. Sans might have been assigned his own room but he spent more time lounging on the couch in the little den than he did in the bedroom. Papyrus said it was an old habit carried from the Underground, though he didn’t understand why Sans would sleep out in the open like that. It was more dangerous. You were never told how it was more dangerous, just that it was, and that Sans did it regardless.  


You leaned in the doorway and watched the skeleton in question attempt to tidy up the couch. He’d apparently made a nest there earlier today; the couch was covered in blankets and pillows from his room and the hall closet. You didn’t see why he’d need, or even want, so many, with the way he dressed. He was covered from collar to toe in clothing, even donning mittens to hide his bones. Was he ashamed? Or just shy?  


“uh, sorry ‘bout the mess.” He gestured to the pillows. “tried ta clean it a bit ‘fore ya came up. pap says--”  


You shake your head, interrupting him, with a smile playing at your lips. There was something about his mixture of anxiety and thoughtfulness that made you feel… well you weren’t sure what that little prickle in your chest was but it was something.  


“It actually looks pretty comfy. Would you be okay with me joining you?”  


“was jus’ gonna move the mess offa the couch. i can sit on the flowuh.”  


Your mouth twitched in amusement. There was something about his thick Brooklyn accent that always tickled you. Maybe it was the way the words got chopped up and slurred? You glanced up from his mouth to his eyelights. He wasn’t looking at you and it made your smirk fall. The way he couldn’t seem to meet your gaze spoke volumes about how uncomfortable he still was. Was it because you were human or because of how you had to speak to him? Or was it because of how you yelled at his brother earlier? Or maybe you just watched him so intently it made him uncomfortable.  


“You sit wherever you’re comfortable Sans. If you would prefer the couch, I’ll sit on the floor.”  


It was less likely to make you sore than him anyways. Surely settling on the hard floor couldn’t be that good for his bones. Your eyes roamed his hidden structure, remembering the thick bones that were once revealed by a thin paper grown. While they seemed sturdy they didn’t have any of the cushioning of muscle or fat to prevent the hard floor from bruising them.  


He didn’t answer but cautiously, as if he expected to be hit, climbed into the blankets on the couch. There was something adorable about a Monster his size, with his intimidating skeletal structure, fussing with so many soft blankets. He cocooned himself in until all that could be seen were his sockets. Your mouth curved in amusement. That was something you’d never seen Papyrus do and it was fucking _adorable_.  


You offered him one of the cold cans in your hand. He eyed it for a long moment before freeing a hand from its fluffy cage. He’d taken off his mittens in the cocoon, bare bones reaching for the drink. You tried not to stare and keep your smile soft and inviting. When his fingers brushed yours, you almost gasped.  


His bones were _warm_. Almost hot. And his touch sent a shiver down your spine. It was just a brush of fingers, innocent and accidental, but there was something behind the touch.You weren’t entirely sure what it could be but it pulled at something inside you. It made you want to tighten your hold on the can, just to prolong the contact and have a chance to analyze what the hell it could be. But you didn’t and let the can slip from your hand to his.  


He slipped the cold soda into the folds of the blankets and hummed quietly in thanks. You nodded and set your drink down.  


“I’m gonna go fetch my movies and a couple blankets for myself.” You explained to him before setting off to your room. 

It was best to treat him like he really was a battered spouse, explaining your actions instead of just doing them. It would keep him from being startled or scared if he was given something to expect. And it would keep you safe; a human with this kind of emotional and mental damage might just swing on you, or run, but Sans wasn’t a human. He was a hulking, powerful, magical skeleton and you’d _seen_ what he could do without even breaking a sweat. You definitely didn’t want to catch him off guard.  


You snagged the comforter off your bed, your body pillow, and your duffle bag of movies. Papyrus had once said you and Sans had similar taste in movies. You hoped that he had been right. Sometimes it seemed like Papyrus didn’t know his brother as well as he thought he did. There was something about the older skeleton that just seemed… off. Mysterious. Hidden. He seemed like he had secrets that he’d keep forever, ones that not even Papyrus was privy to.  


His lights followed you as you assembled a little nest of your own on the floor. With his whole body swaddled in blankets it wasn’t easy to tell what he was feeling. Not that he was easy to read in the first place but keeping so much covered made it nigh impossible.  


“Is there a genre you prefer?”  


“don’ worry ‘bout entertainin’ me sweetcheeks.”  


You couldn’t help the way your mouth pulled into a line. His lights shrunk slightly and you tried to find the right words so that you didn’t further disturb his mood, whatever it may be.  


“I just want to make sure I don’t put on something you’re not gonna enjoy.”  


“i jus’ spent a yea’ blindfolded an’ in a cage. pretty sure i’ll enjoy jus’ about anythin’.”  


Well when he put it like that…  


You rummaged through your movies, knowing exactly which ones would lift the mood. You slipped the case out, popped the disk in, and snagged the remote on your way to the couch. The pile of blankets that was Sans seemed to tense, if that shift from slumped pile to upright pile was any indicator, as you got closer. When you plopped onto the ground on the other side of the couch, giving plenty of space between you two, he slouched back. Turns out reading him could be easier when he was just a pile of blankets.  


You tapped the play button and gave him a bright smile, hoping to impart some kind of positivity to the tense atmosphere.The slump of blankets remained motionless but you saw red lights flick from you to the screen and back. They seemed to be just a hair brighter.  


“This is one of my favorites.”  


The commercials were playing, those agitating advertisements for movies that were, at the time, preparing to release. Wow you’d forgotten how old this movie was. It still cheered you up on rough days though. Then the dramatic music started, and the cannons were going off and...  


_**Hi I’m Johnny Noxville and welcome to Jackass!!!**_  


You couldn’t control the giddy grin and bounce that the opening line provoked. You loved this stupid movie. All of those stupid movies. Somehow watching these guys pull pranks, do stupid stunts, and hurt themselves and their friends, while laughing endlessly at their own stupidity, just brought you so much undiluted joy. You giggled gleefully as they were launched from the shopping cart.  


Sans’ lights flicked to you; you saw the blanket pile shift and the light brightened in your peripheral vision.  


“what kinda movie is this?” There was a delighted lilt to his baritone.  


“The best kind.”  


“real enlightenin’ doll…”  


His grumble sounded equal parts amused and grumpy. It made your grin grow.  


“It’s a comedy, I guess? It’s just a group of guys doing dumb shit together. Sometimes they play pranks on people, sometimes they just do dangerous stunts. It’s all for fun.”  


He hummed, the sound low and deep. A shiver shot down your spine. Not for the first time you wondered how the hell skeletons managed to have such deep, rumbling voices. Papyrus’ was slightly higher in pitch, and tended to sound raspy and scratchy. But Sans’ voice was this almost velvety rumble, smooth and deep and….  


You fixed your gaze on the T.V. because _that_ had been a weird train of thought that you probably didn’t want to continue. It didn’t take long for you to become distracted again because the antics on T.V. pulled laughter from Sans.  


Your eyes widened and you felt something strangely warm and close to awe fill your chest as the skeleton laughed his blankets off. He leaned heavily on one arm, his face tinting red from the magic that rushed to the surface, his sockets filling with tears as the guys on the screen continued to pull stupid pranks. Oh the one with the bowling ball! No wonder he was laughing.  


His laughter easily overshadowed yours, his guffaws were loud and deep, like the rumble of thunder just overhead. Your face felt warm as you laughed with him, enjoying the movie more with someone who was as caught up in the ridiculousness as you were.  


“these boneheads jus’ got away wit’ shit like this?” He managed to choke out between chuckles.  


“Yeah! As far as I know! There’s like four more movies of this stuff.”  


“na’way. ya gotta be shittin’ me.”  


“Nope. Forreal. Five movies total of these guys just being absolute dickheads.”  


“n’i thought i’d seen ev’rythin’ on the surface. humans.” At least he sounded more amused when he said ‘humans’ than he usually did. Normally the word was laced with enough venom for it to be an expletive.  


“If you like this, then you’re gonna love the rest of my collection.”  


“ya got the rest’a these?”  


“Yup. And some more shit that, in my humble human opinion, is even better.”  


Sans’ grin was a welcome sight; the more he laughed the more the blankets came away until he was just loosely wrapped in them. You could see his skull, and most of his shirt, and his ungloved hands. He seemed a little more relaxed. It almost felt like a night in with Papyrus. There was just something different.  


The doorbell rang and you rushed to go get the pizza. _That_ was what you needed, right? Something in the back of your head told you ‘no, it’s not the fact that you don’t have pizza that’s making this different’. You took a deep breath, put on a smile, and dealt with the delivery person. Once they were paid, and generously tipped, you leaned against the door. You needed a minute to collect yourself.  


Because once you went back upstairs, you’d be surrounded by that awkward trying-to-be-friendly-because-of-our-mutual-acquaintance atmosphere and his rumbling laughter. Something in your chest fluttered at the memory of his laughter. _That_ had to be explainable right? Maybe it was because you didn’t hear so much as a giggle from Papyrus lately. Maybe you just missed the sound of someone else laughing. It had _nothing_ to do with Sans’ voice, and the way his skull managed to crinkle a little around his eyes, like laugh lines, and the way his accompanying smile just softened everything in his usually tense posture. Right?


	10. Entry 10: Misconception Eliminated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans gets caught in the kitchen and has an enlightening talk with his brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you guys so two chapters within 24 hours! I wrote these last two pretty close together, editing the first one was a pain but this one came naturally.  
** Trigger Warning: Nightmares, Violence **  
Sans P.O.V.  
Enjoy more of the shitshow! :D

_“wrong choice…” His own voice echoed back at himself.  
_

_His body felt heavy. Sluggish. S l o w. He watched his hand raise, the gesture painfully familiar, and his Soul twisted tightly. No.  
_

_Light and heat burst from over his shoulder, illuminating the space around him. The kid before him. He tried to open his mouth to call out, to warn the kid, but his nonexistent throat was paralyzed. His mouth failed to move.  
_

_Move Kid! Move! His mind fought against the prison of his immobilized body. Magic burned his sockets. It wasn’t enough. **He** wasn’t enough.  
_

_The smell of Dust and singed hair filled his nasal cavity and--_  


He jolted awake, sockets snapping open and a scream on the tip of his teeth. He could almost taste the Dust in the air and he almost choked on the acrid smell of burnt hair. A sob left him instead of a scream. Why couldn’t that damn kid just quit? Why couldn’t they just forfeit?  


His bones rattled gently as he tried to suppress his cries. Magic, electric and hot, dripped from his sockets, and sung along his bones. A loud sob threatened his ribs, so he shoved his fist in his maw and bit down, hoping to muffle the noise. It came out strangled but soft. He didn’t want the human to hear; she’d fallen asleep in the little den halfway through the movie, her fight with Papyrus apparently taking a lot out of her.  


Papyrus hadn’t come home during the movie and Sans hadn’t been willing to sort through her things, so he’d moved his bundle of blankets and pillows to his bedroom. He wasn’t a fan of the small enclosed space, it felt too much like a cage, but he didn’t want to be vulnerable near a human. Even if that human had a good sense of humor. He panted around his fist. His body trembled and his magic was calming down, but it was agonizingly slow.  


Despite the lingering shake in his bones, and the agitated buzz in his magic, he needed a drink. He wanted a glass of bourbon but he’d settle for a soda. Maybe he could convince the human to pick up some booze. She seemed more willing to bend the rules than Papyrus; he knew his brother would never facilitate his bad habits. Stars, Pap had been over the moon when he’d realized Sans hadn’t smoked once during his first week at the manor.  


He popped into the kitchen, glad his magic wasn’t too unstable for a simple teleport. The lights were off. Darkness used to be familiar and welcome. Now he was doing his best not to jump at every imagined movement. Around every corner seemed to lurk a small Cat Monster with desperate yellow eyes.  


He made a beeline for the fridge, popping it open to stare into its frigid depths. There was still a case and a half of the red soda that the human had bought. It was surprisingly good, sweet and fizzy. Milk, ew. Bottles of water, because Papyrus was ridiculous. Tap water should be good enough. A bottle of wine? When had that gotten in there? Sans was sure he’d remember if there’d been booze in the house. He almost reached for it.  


“Close The Door, Sans.”  


He was ashamed to admit he jumped. He hadn’t seen his brother lounging in a chair by the breakfast bar. He snagged a soda and gently closed the door before turning to his brother. The taller skeleton’s expression was carefully blank. Sans could tell that Papyrus was controlling his features.  


“hey, bro. didn’ hea’ ya come in.” Sans chuckled weakly, voice pitched low so that it wouldn’t echo through the empty manor.  


“That Would Be Because You Were Preoccupied With Jimmi.”  


Shit! While Papyrus didn’t sound upset, Sans’ Soul still twisted with guilt. The situation was murky; Papyrus had a fight with his human and then comes home to Sans yukking it up with her. It could be read as Sans making a move on his brother’s datemate. He swallowed nervously, despite not having the equipment or need to do so.  


“pap it wasn’ like that, i swea’. we was jus’ watchin’ some movies. yer fight kinda upset her, see? it was her idea anyways an’--” He gestured placatingly, magical sweat beading on his skull.  


Papyrus seemed content to watch his brother squirm for a moment before raising a large, ungloved hand. Sans closed his mouth so quickly his teeth clicked together. The only time Papyrus didn’t wear gloves was when….  


“Announcing My Presence Would Have Upset Her. How Mad Was She?”  


“sh’seemed pretty steamed boss.” Sans wanted to hate how meek he sounded, but this was Papyrus and it was an easy habit to fall into with his violent younger sibling.  


Papyrus sighed, the sound ragged. Sans’ eyelights raked over his brother’s appearance and his bones rattled gently. Papyrus was an extraordinarily neat person yet he was slouched in the chair with his clothes seriously disheveled.  


The first few buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing his clavicles and a strip of his sternum. His tie hung loosely around his vertebrae, untied and uneven. One sleeve was rolled up to his elbow, the other unbuttoned at the wrist. His belt was unbuckled, his slacks were wrinkled, and one of his shoes were untied. Sans almost missed the smudge of purple at his brother’s vertebrae while taking in his uncharacteristically sloppy dress.  


He carefully scented the air, not wanting Papyrus to catch on to what he was doing. Pap smelled like a bakery and a French bordello. It was revolting. Sans felt his mouth curling in disgust and for the second time in his life he was tempted to run bleach through his nasal cavity.  


“ya ain’t lookin’ like yaself pap…” Sans was careful in his tone, projecting only worry instead of suspicion.  


“Oh?” It seemed like the taller skeleton hadn’t noticed the rumpled mess his apparel had been left in. He’d been in a bit of a hurry after his visit. A small, fond smile curved his jagged teeth as he touched a colored smear on the collar of his shirt.  


“pap... look, i know it’s non’a my bizness, but, yer datemate prolly won’ ‘preciate that.” He made a subtle nod of his skull towards the offending smudge.  


“What?”  


Papyrus’ genuine confusion made his older brother shake his head and heave a shaky sigh. Sans had never thought he’d be having this conversation.  


“i know i haven’ been th’best role model, i know m’a bit of a slut, but m’sure i taught ya betta than to cheat on ya datemates, right?” Sans found it harder than usual to look at his brother. He knew he wasn’t a good moral compass but everything he’d read, everything he’d let slip into Papyrus’ claws, had taught loyalty and honesty. He didn’t like humans, hated them almost, but… that was Pap’s datemate and that made the situation just a little different. Sans couldn’t justify that behavior, even to the scum of the planet.  


“What Are You Talking About, Sans?”  


“you n’yer human. yous guys seemed pretty serious an’ i don’ think she’s the kinda broad tha’s gonna put up with cheatin’.”  


Papyrus’ teeth parted in surprise and then he let out a loud guffaw. His body shook with his laughter and he doubled over, leaving Sans to flounder for a response. This wasn’t something he’d anticipated.  


“NYEH HEHEHEHE!”  


Sans couldn’t help but look over his shoulder, anxiety making him feel watched. He expected the human to be watching over his shoulder.  


“ME AND JIM? SANS THAT’S THE BEST JOKE YOU’VE EVER TOLD!!”  


If the laughter had been confusing, this was worse. How was that a joke?  


“b-but you...an’ her… ya don’t live with a broad fer six years withou’ bein’ serious.”  


More laughter. Sans felt his skull grow warm...well, warmer than usual. This was possibly more embarrassing than the time he’d shown up to Father’s-- Gaster’s-- lab in his boxers and lab coat when he’d overslept and forgotten to dress in his rush. And he didn’t even know why he should be embarrassed.  


“No, Sans,” Papyrus chuckled, calming down some, “_You_ Don’t Move In With A Female Without Being Serious. What’s Between Jimmi And I Is Entirely Platonic.”  


Something strange snapped in Sans and he found himself glaring at his brother. His fists clenched in his pockets.  


“ya serious? the whole time ya kep’ me away an’ yous weren’ togetha? why?” Keeping his voice down was getting harder. It warbled with his effort.  


“Because I Know How You Are With Women. Jimmi Means A Great Deal To Me And I Wasn’t Going To Let You Ruin Her.” Papyrus said, as if that explained everything.  


“i wouldn’a ruined ya partna pap.” Sans grumbled as he crossed his arms and leaned against the fridge.  


“Sans, Every Woman You’ve Ever Been With Has Become Obsessive. They Knock Down Your Door, They Leave Their Datemates, They Do Everything They Can To Get A Second Night With You.” Papyrus gestured vaguely with his ungloved hands. It unnerved Sans; bare phalanges never meant anything good. “ It’s Unhealthy And Disgusting And I Wasn’t Going To Risk You Using Whatever Vile Trickery You Clearly Know On Jim. She Deserves Better.”  


Papyrus tidied up his appearance as he chuckled. Sans just gawked, his anger and magic bubbling in his bones. If Papyrus hadn’t been in the way, he would have had a chance. He could have flirted his way into her arms, worshipped her the way she had deserved, back when he felt so intensely about her. Now he was so broken the sight of her skin made him feel nauseous and he didn’t even have a stomach.  


Papyrus watched his older brother shake, the crimson pips of light in his sockets dimming and his hands fisted. Papyrus knew his brother had had a human fetish, had been an irrepressible slut, and he had only made Jimmi more tempting by making her seem unavailable. The words of his therapist echoed through his skull and Papyrus knew it was time to tell his brother why. He wasn’t even sure why he kept the story so secret anyways… his pride perhaps.  


“Sans, Have I Ever Told You _Why_ Jim Means So Much To Me?”  


Sans was jolted from his mental agony by a gentle hand on his forearm. His gaze froze on his brother’s large hand and he shook his head. Papyrus was touching him? And it didn’t hurt? Everything was too much and not enough and Sans wasn’t sure if he was overwhelmed or overjoyed.  


“I Was Assigned To Jim While I Was Still A Patrol Cop. I Was A Rookie And I Was Angry And Arrogant. They Used To Call Her The Rookie Whisperer Before They Started Calling Her Jim.”  


Though Sans gaze was focused on his brother’s ungloved phalanges, he still felt a twinge of ire and a sassy thought crossed his mind. He didn’t say it, he knew better than to say what he thought all the time, and instead just flicked his lights up to his brother’s skull to read his expression. Papyrus’s features were softened by nostalgia and...guilt?  


“It Was Our Fourth Call Of The Night. Routine. The Building Was Broken Into Multiple Times A Night. Usually It Was Just A Squirrel Or Cat. When We Reached The Location, Jim Said We Should Be Cautious, That Something Felt Off.”  


Papyrus broke to gather his words, bringing his hand from his brother’s radius in order to twine his own fingers. Sans had the distinct feeling that this was the first time Papyrus was telling anyone this story.  


“I Should Have Listened. It Wasn’t A Cat.” Papyrus’s voice wobbled, the words breaking over his guilt. “ A Couple Of Hoodlums Had Broken In And Were Using It As A Place To Deal And Shoot Up. Heroin Or Cocaine, I Can’t Rightly Remember.”  


Papyrus’ voice wavered for a moment, tapering off weakly. Sans felt tension wind tighter in his bones, his magic buzzing in response to his brother’s clear distress. The taller skeleton needed a deep breath to steady himself before soldiering on.  


“What I Do Remember Is Strolling In Like It Was Just Going To Be A Cat And Hearing The Pop Of A Semi-Automatic. I Was Shoved, Thought I’d Been Shot But…”  


Papyrus handed Sans his phone. There were photos. Oh Stars. Her body looked like a broken doll, thick crimson liquid puddled around her body. Her side was pulpy and red, her skin was uncomfortably pale, her eyes were glassy. Why did Pap have pictures of this on his phone? Sans met his brother’s desolate gaze and pressed his phalanx to the screen. When Papyrus nodded, Sans swiped his finger across the screen.  


She was surrounded by tubes. They were stuffed into her mouth, into her ribs, into her hands and forearms. Liquids of different colors tinted the frosted tubes. There was still a lot of scarlet and she still seemed so frail. He swiped again. Paperwork. The writing was jittery, as if written by an unsteady hand. It was an accident report. The human… she’d… He couldn’t help the way his maw opened as he stared at Papyrus’ dim lights.  


“She Took The Blame. Said She Had Become Complacent About Complaints To That Building. She Knew If I Had Been The Cause Of The Accident That I Would Be Removed From The Force. They Were Looking For Any And Every Reason To Have Me Fired And Made An Example Of.”  


Papyrus’ voice became halting, like he was on the verge of tears. Sans couldn’t remember a time his brother had ever been this open and vulnerable before him. Not since he was a babybones.  


“pap…” Sans couldn’t think of words that would comfort his brother, so he simply laid a hand on his shoulder.

Sans stroked his brother’s scapula, his touch the gentlest he’d been in centuries. His Soul hummed happily; Sans missed being able to be gentle with Papyrus. Like he had been when Pap had been small. Still, the touch didn’t seem like enough. There was so much tension, so much guilt, stretched across the taller skeletons’ shoulders.  


He stood and carefully put his arm around Papyrus’ shoulders. The younger skeleton tensed, unused to the affection from anyone other than Muffet and his partner. But this was Sans, and he could feel his brother’s Intent to comfort, to reconnect, and he found himself leaning into Sans’ ribs. He’d missed his brother’s warmth, the way Sans could always make him feel better, like he really was Great and Terrible and not just a giant fuck-up.  


A soft knock on the door frame startled them. The sight of the human leaning her hip against the jamb, a soft smile playing at her mouth, had magic rising to both of their skulls. Sans felt an embarrassed grin tugging at his mouth. Papyrus reacted in his usual manner, shoving his brother away as if the contact was undesirable. The soft smile that had graced her features fell and Sans felt the loss tug at his Soul.  


“Sorry to interrupt.” Her voice was thick with sleep although her eyes were perfectly alert. “But I just got a call from my guy. ”  


Her speech pattern was halting and that never meant anything good.  


“IS SOMETHING WRONG, JIM?” Worry colored Papyrus' cadence.  


“Our cover names are being thrown around. He wants us to be on alert until he knows if it’s a good thing or not.”  


“ALERT?”  


“Yeah. Sleep in shifts. As close together as we can manage so that we can respond if they target one of us.”  


She rubbed her eyes, exhaustion in the lines of her body. Sans knew that kind of exhaustion. It ran deep and no amount of sleep would get rid of it. Only safety and silence. One eye drifted over Papyrus and Sans felt a tingle start in his Soul when the corner of her mouth twitched upward. How did she bounce from one mood to the next so easily?  


“Didja bring me an apology pastry?”  


“WHAT?” Papyrus jerked backwards, confusion stamped on his skull, at her change in tone and subject.  


“You’ve clearly been to Muffet’s. She send you back with a gift for me?”  


The hopeful anticipation of a sweet painted her features in a playful manner and the tingle strengthened. Papyrus shook his head to be free of the shock and righteous outrage plastered itself on his skull in its stead.  


“YOU CALLED ME AN EMOTIONALLY CONSTIPATED EDGELORD!! NO!! NO CINNAMON ROLLS FOR YOU!!!”


	11. Entry 11: Temporary Re-assignment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You get some news from Papyrus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger Warnings**: non-consensual touching.  
Hey, holidays, gotta love/hate'em right?  
Sorry it took so long to get this finished and edited.  
Enjoy!

Your deep breathing did nothing to calm your hammering heart. You were pretty sure you could look down and see it pulsing beneath the skin. Sweat beaded beneath your arms and trickled down your sides despite the hard work your A/C was putting in. You ran your finger along the neckline of the dress you wore, feeling the thin wire that was taped to the fabric. You had an exit strategy, you were recording in case that didn’t work, and all of that was supposed to be precaution. Nico had said that everything was good, better than good, _fantastic_.  


You pulled into the familiar gravel parking lot of the warehouse. He’d said you were being invited to another fight, one of a higher caliber, and that you’d made an impression on someone high up on the food chain. Someone with money and power. So of course you’d made another appointment to buy more Monsters. It would only be appropriate to seem like you were training up, that you were ambitious, or else it would seem suspicious that you’d kept Sans out of that shit-for-brain’s disgusting mitts.  


You wiped your hands on your thighs before leaving the car. You kept your walk deliberate, slow, but confident. It was easier to do now that the bruises had healed. That ‘scientist’ was there to greet you. He bowed slightly, though his eyes never left your figure. Your fingers twitched but otherwise you kept your calm. You had to keep playing this right or you’d ruin the hopes and lives of every Monster in New Ebbot.  


“Ah, it is good to see you back, my lady.”  


You gave him a polite smile. It was nice that these criminals insisted on privacy, you still had a hard time remembering to react to your cover name. You really weren’t cut out for this part of the job and not for the first time, you wished Papyrus wasn’t so well known.  


“It is good to be back.”  


“To what do I owe this honor?”  


Ugh you hated playing nice with this sicko. How could he smile at you like that after what he did to these Monsters? You could hear pitiful crying echoing from the depths of the warehouse.  


“More bait.. And perhaps some advice?” You paused, waiting for him to nod. When he did you flashed a smile and continued. “What would you recommend as… motivation? My fighter did an acceptable job during his last fight but I want a better performance from now on.”  


The smile that curved his mouth made your stomach clench.  


“The quickest motivator is the drug you purchased but I am assuming you are looking for a more long-term solution.”  


He said this as a statement instead of a question. Still, you nodded the affirmative and he offered his arm. You slid your hand into the crook of his elbow and allowed him to lead you away from the wall of cages to a door tucked away in the corner. You hadn’t noticed this door before. Then again, the last time you were here, all you could focus on was that weird pull towards Sans and his growling. Something deep inside you had told you not to leave without him even as you knew his price would be exorbitant and would cut down on how many Monsters you could get out of this situation.  


“If I remember correctly, my lady, you claimed to have your own methods on your last visit.”  


His unspoken question hung in the air. The click of your heels seemed so loud, echoing in the silence. The whimpering Monsters even seemed to wait for your answer.  


“I did, and still do. However, these situations are quite different and it would be remiss if I didn’t take this chance to pick the brain of someone so intelligent.”  


His grin was smug and he straightened up. He even tried to make his strides slightly longer, as if preening. He gestured as he talked, as if in a lecture hall. It reminded you a little of some of the older officers.  


“Years of careful testing and observation has shown that for these beasts, sex is the best motivator. They are most aggressive during their heats, when magic production and sexual desire is at its peak.”  


He led you along a corridor. These cages were more uniform, more comfortable, and more remote. There were fewer of them and even less Monsters. They looked like those capsule apartments you’d seen in brochures for Japan that Undyne had left at the apartment. His eyes trailed along the exposed curve of your neck. You barely suppressed a shudder.  


“In order to provoke a prolonged reaction, either to the medication or to their own annual cycle, it’s recommended to use a female. Female Monsters are unusually difficult to acquire. Apparently they are more alert and cautious than males, therefore all the more difficult to lure into secluded areas.”  


He gestured to one of the cages that was inhabited. A Cat Monster laid in bed. She seemed better kept than what you can now assume now was the male Monsters. Her fur wasn’t glossy but it wasn’t patchy, and though she was curled up on herself she wasn’t shivering or openly sobbing. It was still a horrible fate just not as hopeless seeming as the males’. He brought his hand up to stroke over your knuckles. Was he trying to distract you?  


“How would you recommended using a female?”  


It took a lot to tear your eyes away from the Monster in the cage; you could almost feel her despair. You hoped your sympathy didn’t show on your face.  


“You keep her close enough to a male for him to detect her pheromones. The males bought from our stock are kept far enough away that the scent alone will drive their aggression up. Whether or not you allow him to have a go at the female is up to you. I would not recommend it, with the size of your male. He is likely to rip the womb of most of the females we have here. Their vaginal walls don’t seem to share the same elastic properties of human females.”  


You kept your face interested as he spoke. Your stomach was staging a very strong protest. You really didn’t want to know how they found out that little nugget of information. Thankfully you were wearing a wire, you’d want this for the case; a testament to their depravity. He’d finally stopped petting the hand you had tucked into his elbow, though he didn’t remove his hand, but rested it atop yours.  


“Well, I’ll keep that in mind and keep the female away from him. Is there any specific breed you can recommend?”  


You kept your voice free of disdain-- a herculean effort-- and made sure to play as if you weren’t aware of Monster biology. Anyone who kept up with actual Monster science knew that no singular ‘breed’ of female produced more pheromones than any other. In this respect humans and Monsters were very similar; each Monster reacted to the scent of another differently depending on different levels of compatibility and attraction. A lot of that was also tied to the Soul, if you were remembering your night course correctly. Regardless, any answer other than ‘no’ would prove this guy was a quack.  


“Yes, actually, I believe a Cat Monster would be a good match for your male. Cat Monsters have the highest pheromone output.” He walked over to a second chamber, hosting another Cat Monster. “ You know, I am surprised you’ve been able to get as much performance out of him as you have. He showed no particular combat aptitude when we tested him.”  


Shit. Opening for conversation. You took as subtle a deep breath as you could before batting your eyelashes at him. A little flirtation and flattery would get this guy back on his lecture-horse and leave you to just control your emotions.  


“I wouldn’t have been able to get even an iota of motivation from him if it hadn’t been for your little miracle.”  


Merciful heavens, lying left a horrible taste in your mouth. Sucking up to this asshole only made it worse. You hated your job right now. This wasn’t what you signed up for.  


“Well, I am glad to have been of service.”  


Ugh the preening. _Smile and tilt your head just so_. His smile widened and you hated his filthy yellowed teeth even more.  


“Is there...anything else… I can do for you, my lady?” His voice was thick with lust as he drew closer. You couldn’t help the way your eyes shot over his body and you swallowed. You hoped he misinterpreted the look. Judging by his little inhale and the way he leaned a little closer, he did. His fingers slipped around yours and squeezed.  


“Perhaps choose some tougher bait? I want my fighter to get stronger.”  


He seemed to pout at your words so you did your best to look flirty, casting a sultry glance from beneath your long lashes. Your stomach was knotting painfully.  


“Oh, don’t pout, dear. Can’t mix pleasure with business at the moment.” You did your best to sound playful and interested in him, as if you might take him up on the ‘pleasure’ he was offering at a different time. It was the best you could think to do so that he didn’t take the rejection so personally. You’d need to come back and squeeze more information out of him at some point.  


It worked. He grinned and pulled your hand across his body to rest it against his mouth. He placed the hand closest to you on your lower back before feathering his lips across the back of the hand he held captive. Ew. Must think he’s in some trashy romance novel or something. This close you could really smell his cologne and it was repugnant. The hand on your back slid down slowly, resting dangerously low on your hips.  


“Of course, how silly of me.”  


He kept his hand on the upper swell of your ass but at least he relinquished his hold on your hand. You let him guide you to the cages and watched as he pointed to three. They were slightly larger than the ones you’d purchased almost two months ago. You snapped your fingers and had the suitcase that had been in your trunk brought out by his goons. Naturally, they had to inspect the contents, make sure that the amount at least seemed correct, before getting the nod to take it away.  


“Well my dear, I am glad you have chosen to rely on me for this.”  


Oh how you hated that smug grin. You hated the kiss he pressed to your hand, again. You hated the way you had to smile and give a flirty goodbye. As you walked to the car you sent Papyrus a text. Your body shook from the unwanted touching that had almost gone too far.  


It didn’t take them long to load the moving van; bait and the female weighed considerably less than Sans. The moving van seemed to know the route to the manor as well as you did, making it seem as if you were coincidentally going the same way instead of you leading them there. It didn’t help your shaking; they were either far more intelligent than you’d first suspected and had memorized the route from one visit (highly unlikely) or had been keeping you under surveillance. While you hoped it wasn’t the latter, the turmoil in your gut told you to not hold your breath.  


Papyrus knew the drill for unloading. Sans kept himself out of sight, which was best for everyone. While you knew that the science that fraud had spouted was complete horse-pucky, you also knew that Sans had been forced into celibacy for more than a year and, unless he was taking care of himself very quietly every night, he’d be hella pent up. You sort of doubted that he’d been masturbating (Pap said he wasn’t the quiet type) and the heats of Monsters that weren’t completely exposed -- i.e. like all of them-- were a lot harder for you to tell. It had the potential to be a very bad situation, so Sans had been instructed to remain in his room until everyone was settled.  


Once they were unloaded, and the goons confirmed to be off of the property, you followed procedure and closed all of the curtains and Papyrus changed out of his rags. You were removing the wire from your chest when he returned, his knowing lights taking in the tense lines of your shoulders and the slight tremble in your movements.  


“THEY GIVE YOU ANY TROUBLE?” He placed his hand on your shoulder, voice full of concern.  


“Pffft. Trouble I can handle. Unwanted sexual advances, on the other hand…” You shrugged and handed him the tiny recording device. His lights dimmed and his mouth curved down in disgust and sympathy. “Yeah, gross, I know.”  


“THAT SEEMS TO BE HAPPENING A LOT.” His brow bone flexed and crumpled in the center, his visage seeming aggravated and concerned.  


“Yeah well, when you cavort with the scum of the Earth, you can’t expect manners.” You patted the hand on your shoulder affectionately. Your big bad partner had a thing about the treatment of ‘the fairer sex’. It was an outdated perspective but when it came to some matters, like those of consensual touching, it was quite sweet.  


He grumbled something about proper etiquette and a dating manual, but you couldn’t be sure. He put aside the discussion but you could tell by his watchful eyelights that it would be brought up later, when you didn’t have any pressing business. You moved from cage to cage, unlocking them and letting your partner deal with traumatized victims. The way they shook and looked at you with stricken, wary eyes made your heart ache.  


After every cage was unlocked you sat on your designated stool in the kitchen. You had to remain separate from the victim while Papyrus coaxed them to the guest rooms because you were human and they desperately needed to start healing. They were so much more traumatized than the first couple you’d brought back, so they didn’t feel even vaguely okay with your presence. It made your heart ache worse: that was what you lived for, helping the victims begin the healing process. Interacting with the perps, putting them behind bars, that was nice and all but it wasn’t what you felt was your purpose. You loved watching the relief in the victims faces when they realized they were safe, when they stopped fearing their oppressor. Sometimes you wished your application to the SVU wasn’t denied every time you applied.  


Papyrus was clumsy with his handling, sometimes being a bit too gruff when they seemed to balk at the idea of going somewhere with him, but he was the only one who could handle them. You could only sit on your hands and gaze at your lap. Papyrus wouldn’t thrive in the SVU. He’d actually be better going back to patrol, where all he dealt with was people breaking the laws and the initial intake of the victims’ reports. If he stayed a detective he would need a partner like you, who enjoyed handling the victims and their families, who encouraged the emotional healing process and knew just about every therapist in New Ebbot. Maybe that was why your applications were denied; the head of the SVU department liked Papyrus and would want him to continue to succeed but he couldn’t do that without you.  


After everyone was led to their rooms, you and Papyrus moved the cages to the shed, hands gloved to make sure that your prints didn’t transfer. These would be key in convicting these asshats.  


“THE THERAPIST SHOULD BE OVER NEXT WEEK TO HELP THIS ROUND OF VICTIMS.” Papyrus informed you, unable to meet your eyes as you slumped over the kitchen counter. That was odd.  


“What’s up Boss?”  


“I’D RATHER WAIT UNTIL DINNER TO TELL YOU AND SANS AT THE SAME TIME.”  


He had probably heard his name, or noticed a lack of commotion, because the aforementioned skeleton popped into existence as if on command. Huh. You weren’t sure if it was Sans’ appearance, or maybe you just hadn’t noticed before, but the air smelled vaguely of cherries and cinnamon and something a little woodsy and smoky. Maybe Pap had lit a candle?  


“hey boss,” his voice was tense as he greeted his brother, “noticed ya added a buncha new house guests.”  


“JIM HAS, YES.” Papyrus waved his hand dismissively and still wouldn’t look you in the eye. Sans seemed to glare at you but it was hard to tell. He really needed to be more expressive than just changing the brightness of his eyelights. Maybe scrunch his face up a little. You were tempted to do it for him.  


“Yeah, doing my job, running a regular Monster Rescue, here.” You kept your tone light and flippant, focused more on bringing the subject back to Papyrus. “So, Sans is here now, gonna tell me?”  


“IT’S NOT YET DINNER TIME, JIM.”  


“It’s four in the afternoon, so, close enough.” His avoidance, the way he kept his back to you as if that would make you drop it, only made you more determined. Whatever it was, it was bothering him.  


“Boss.”  


“NO.”  


“Boooooooooossssss.” You leaned over the counter further, arms spread across the surface. You could almost reach him, as he was leaned against the opposite side of the counter, back still to you.  


“I SAID NO JIM!” He growled at you, almost twisting to face you but not quite.  


You pouted for a moment before taking the lunge and poking him in his hip. He yelped; he’d always been particularly ticklish around his hips and feet. He whirled around and fixed you with the most betrayed look he could muster but he finally met your eyes.  


“Come on, Boss, what’s wrong?” You were gentle, coaxing, and he crumbled, like he always did. Sans just watched the interaction, no discernable emotion on his skull. You really needed to learn to read him.  


“I HAVE BEEN CALLED AWAY BY ASGORE. I’M LEAVING NEXT WEEK.”  


Your mind, which had been running a mile a minute with possibilities-- issues with his therapist, issues with Muffet, maybe good things with Mufffet? They’d been going out for years now-- screeched to a halt and dropped all of the balls it had been juggling. Called away?  


“How can he do that? You’re on an assignment!” You felt a tingle of fear prick your stomach. This assignment was easily one of the largest that New Ebbot P.D. had assigned in a long time, at least the past ten years. It was dangerous, it was terrifying, and you knew you couldn’t do it alone. You and Papyrus were a team, you’d always been a team, and knowing he was on stand-by should anything happen helped you keep your cool.  


“THE CHIEF AGREED THAT IT WAS FOR THE BEST. I’M NOT DOING ANYTHING MORE THAN WRITING THE REPORTS. THERE’S ENOUGH DOWN TIME BETWEEN FIGHTS FOR YOU TO DO THE PAPERWORK JIM.” He sounded as if he was reasoning with an upset girlfriend. It wasn’t too far from the truth.  


“And what’s so important that they have to pull you away? How long will you be gone?” Your voice was starting to crack. You felt a buzzing numbness start in your throat and stomach.  


“HE DID NOT SAY.”  


“ass-gore wouldn’a asked fer ya unless it has sumthin’ ta do with th’kid.”  


Your head jerked to Sans; you’d forgotten his existence for a moment. He was so quiet, just observing you and Papyrus. His eyelights sharpened and brightened as they lingered over you for a moment.  


“The kid?” Your voice was a little strained but your throat was still working.  


“FRISK.”  


“they’re pretty close. they don’ trust jus’ anyone with th’kiddo. mus’ be pretty importan’ f’them ta need ya ta watch frisk.”  


You knew if it was coming from that high up, there was nothing you could do. You were going to be stuck, surrounded by Monsters you didn’t know, who’d been hurt by humans. You were going to be on eggshells, trying to help them as your job dictated, as you wanted to, while also trying to keep yourself safe. They could kill you a lot faster than a gun and you knew, even in self defense, you wouldn’t be able to hurt one of them.  


You wanted to show how upset you were. But you’d learned a long time ago that venting that way got you nowhere good. So you swallowed the information, you’d have time to be scared and upset later, in private. You did what Brian told you; focus on something else. Something good. Papyrus knew the smile you gave him was forced, he could read the fear in your eyes. But he let you change the subject.  


“Alright. Sounds cool. What’s for dinner?”  


The crimson eyelights that read your face were just a hair too perceptive for your liking. At least he didn’t say anything.


	12. Entry 12: Code 5150

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans has a bit of a bad time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story broke 200 kudos? What?! I'm clearly hallucinating. No way something **I** wrote could do that.  
You guys honor me, really. I can't believe you like this story so much that so many of you sweethearts have dropped by and left comments or kudos. ;3; I love you guys. I don't know you all, but I love you all.  
Anyways, for this episode of 'horrible things I'm going to do to Sans and Reader':  
** Trigger Warning **: Panic attack, violence, language.

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._  


Sans growled, tension making his magic jitter along his bones. _Fuck._ It really couldn’t be said enough. He pulled a Blaster from the void, it’s canid maw opening, unhinging at the seams, blinding white energy gathering in the revealed space. An electric hum filled the air and he shot row after row of ivory bones out, each so saturated with his magic that they were coated in a red miasma.  


He was getting stronger, faster, summoning more Blasters more often. The only problem was still their charge time. Pap wouldn’t be happy with how slow they still were. He was riding Sans hard; three days were left until his next fight and Papyrus would only be here to train him for two more. He knew his younger brother was stressed, it showed in the tension around his semi-malleable mouth and the way he stomped around the manor now.  


The Blaster, fully charged, for just a second reminded him of the Core, buzzing loudly with tremendous energy. It released the beam of power, mowing down and disintegrating four rows of heavy trees. So much stronger than before but would strength alone be enough? Sweat had yet to bead on his skull, his stamina was far beyond what he had once thought himself capable of.  


Stamina hadn’t mattered Underground, only strength. What was the point of lasting eighteen to twenty rounds when you could decimate your enemy in three? He yanked four more blasters, forming a star, each Blaster staggered just slightly so that their beams would miss each other. The charging really was an issue. He formed more bones, thick and thin, all jagged, slamming them deep into the ground. He needed to be able to multitask and that’s what Papyrus wanted him to focus on.  


While the Blasters were charging and bones were disappearing, he pulled two more from the void to float above the Ring of Death. They charged, their timing only a few moments behind the five. He was starting to really tax himself, bringing more bones, this time those that barred movement, glowing brilliant red. He patterned the movement to match the music coming from the headphones that covered his ear holes.  


The lasers fired, tearing down the forest around him, the bones stuttered in their pattern as the Blasters drew from him for power, sweat finally dripping along his skull and dampening his clothing. The two from above fired, turning earth into char and igniting the grass near the beams. The smoldering crater left in the ground was impressive. With a wave of his phalanges the Blasters and bones disappeared, giving Sans a moment to appreciate the destruction he caused.  


The heavy watch on his wrist beeped, signaling the end of his training session. Papyrus would expect him to train again tonight, with him, when he returned from his date. He focused on the back door of the manor, having been warned about startling the human. He held the location in his mind while his power pooled and then _pop_. The air filling the space he left made a little noise that always made him grin, he wasn’t sure why it amused him but it did, as he stepped through the void. Blackness pressed around him, almost viscous in its presence, ice cold and menacing, for a moment before he stepped back into daylight.  


The human was slouched over the kitchen counter, papers strewn across the surface and her cell phone open to a calculator application. The dark circles beneath her eyes were almost as impressive as his. Was she having issues sleeping like he was? He slept on the couch in their little den but he’d not heard her up late at night. Then again, he’d rarely heard anything over his own Soul’s frightened pulse and he was always focused on muffling his own sobs. She propped her elbow on the table and buried that hand in her hair. A pen cap rested between her lips, bobbing up and down to no apparent rhythm.  


“YOU’RE UP EARLY SANS.”  


Papyrus was at the stove, pressing down a sandwich with a weight. The smell of melting mozzarella and warmed salami filled the air.  


“not that early, boss.” He joked as he settled into a stool at the breakfast bar, several seats away from the human. “wuzzat smell?”  


He grinned at his brother as he sprawled out over the counter top. Papyrus’ lights roamed his sweaty skull and his sockets narrowed. For a split second Sans expected Papyrus to whack him with the spatula in his hand, or perhaps crack his skull with his fist, and was pleasantly surprised when the taller skeleton simply returned to his cooking. Two sandwiches were being pressed. Papyrus began slicing bread for a third.  


“PANINIS.” He piled meat, cheese, tomatoes, and peppers onto the bread with efficient hands. “BOTH YOU AND JIM SKIPPED BREAKFAST THIS MORNING, SO A WARM AND HEARTY LUNCH IS IN ORDER.”  


Sans glanced over at the human, noticing that she was smiling gently at Papyrus. Something about her expression, so soft and wistful, made his Soul ache.  


“Awww, you _do_ care, Boss.”  


Papyrus fixed her with a glare which only made her grin more. Sans couldn’t help the way his mouth twitched, trying to grin with her. It was odd, being the third wheel in their healthy friendship. Papyrus treated her in a more sibling-worthy fashion than he did Sans and it settled sourly in his bones. But that’s what the Underground did, it twisted even the best intentions and tainted everything that was pure and sweet.  


“YOU BETTER HAVE FINISHED YOUR TRAINING THIS MORNING.”  


Papyrus turned his glare on his older brother. The shorter skeleton nodded, tense. He hated when Pap turned those smoldering eyelights on him, it made too many bad memories crowd close. He rubbed his sternum, claws tracing the scar under the cloth.  


“‘course boss.” He kept his eyes averted and his tone submissive. Papyrus hadn’t hit him more than that one time but it was more than enough of a reminder of how things _used_ to be. How they would always be. Sans rubbed his hand more vigorously against his sternum, pressing claws into the jagged scar, prying slightly, trying to bring back the old pain that grounded him.  


Something banged and the human swore. Sans whole body jerked, startled, and his lights shot to the human. She’d fallen off the chair and was giggling madly.  


“Really Jim?” Papyrus sounded amused.  


She didn’t answer, just kept giggling. It grew, slowly, into a full blown laugh, with snorts and everything. Her face was red and her hand was slapped over her face. Her feet were tangled in the legs of the stool. That odd tingle started in his Soul and he couldn’t help the grin that tugged at his mouth. Her laugh was really nice.  


Papyrus finished putting the sandwich on the griddle, pressing it with a weight like the others, before going to help his human partner.  


“You’re Absolutely Ridiculous.” He untangled her feet gently, handling her comfortably. Sans couldn’t understand that kind of tolerance for touching bare skin. When she’d put her hands on him his magic had crawled across his bones, trailing discomfort from skull to metatarsal.  


“Yeah, I know.” Her laughter was dying, falling to small chuckles. Tears glistened in the corner of her eyes, threatening to follow the trail of predecessors into her hairline.  


“YOU’VE NOT BEEN SLEEPING WELL HAVE YOU?”  


She shrugged at his accusation, still sprawled across the floor. When he offered his hand, she took it, but quickly returned to her seat. She seemed to be trying to escape Papyrus’ scrutiny. As if answering Fate’s whims, Papyrus’ cell phone rang. The jingle was familiar though Sans wasn’t sure why. The tall skeleton flushed orange and strode quickly from the room.  


The human turned to him, a large, sly grin curving their mouth.  


“Saved by Muffet.”  


Sans eyelights flicked down to the counter. He didn’t really care but he knew Pap did.  


“are ya havin’ trouble sleepin’ doll?”  


Ugh. She gave him The Face ™. Her brow scrunched slightly, the skin puckering at the bridge of her nose and the corners of her eyes. Eyes that were warm and thoughtful. She looked at him like that a lot, like he was a puzzle she was trying to unravel. For some reason that look did things to his Soul. He wasn’t sure if he liked it or not.  


“Yeah, I am.” His lights fixated on her face. Was she actually opening up to him instead of Pap? “Nightmares. Keep seeing those Monsters. I know you did what you had to do, and we’re only doing this because it’s our job but…”  


The ache in her voice told him everything she had trouble putting into words. The Dust of those Monsters stained her hands as much as they did his, their deaths a weight on her Soul, the fact that he had to fight was lead in her heart. Stars those eyes were expressive. She threaded her hand through her hair again, a slow gesture of guilt and frustration. His phalanges twitched and he thought about mimicking her motion. What would her hair feel like? He’d touched humans before but _this_ human seemed so different; she saw beyond the barrier of Monster or human.  


“yeah. i get whatchya talkin’ ‘bout.”  


Her eyes focused on his eyelights and for just a second there was that feeling, like his Soul had been struck with electricity.  


“Sans.” His name was a hushed whisper. It made his spine tingle. “Do you--”  


“JIM! SANS!”  


Papyrus’ shout broke the tension. She rubbed at her eyes and temples, pulling the skin taught. Sans felt his vertebrae tighten, magic crawling along his bones in disgust, as the skin flexed and wrinkled and pulled at the command of her fingers. Nothing should be that flexible.  


“Yeah Boss?” She yelled back, sounding tired.  


“I WILL BE HEADING OUT EARLY TO DINE WITH MUFFET BEFORE MY APPOINTMENT. DINNER WILL BE UP TO YOU. EAT HEALTHY!!!”  


“We will!!”  


Their shouted conversation ended with the door to the garage slamming shut. A wicked grin curved the human’s mouth.  


“Not.”  


He wasn’t sure if he liked the sound of that, though her mischievous tone sent a tingle down his spine. She leaned onto the counter, a playful sparkle in her eyes.  


“Order out or pick up groceries?”  


“should prob’ly lissen ta boss--”  


“Pssssh,” She gestured dismissively. “He’s not the _Boss_ of me.”  


He hated how that sassy little, probably unintended, pun drew a chuckle from him. Her eyes became soft and warm again.  


“he’ll be pissed wheneva he gets back.”  


She didn’t seem at all deterred.  


“That’s assuming he finds out.” That playful tone was making his Soul flip. Was this what Papyrus had to put up with every day?  


She winked at him. A small shudder ran down his spine.  


“Snag a shower and then we’ll head out.”  


“y’sure tha’s safe?”  


“If we go a few cities over, we’ll be fine.”  


He nodded once, sharply, unable to think of another protest. He didn’t want to go out there, where the other humans were, not when he’s spent the last month ramping up for another fight. Not when he didn’t know how to be normal around humans. She didn’t count, she was Pap’s human, she was used to his...eccentricity. She was also strangely perceptive, those warm eyes always watching his movements and expressions.  


The acrid smell of charring bread stopped the human from leaving. She dashed over to the stove and pulled off the weights, hissing as the first one burned her hand. The smell of warm metal meeting flesh made his magic roil. She grabbed a mitt from above the stove and removed the other two weights, although the damage was done, her hand was very pink.  


She used the spatula to plop the sandwiches on the plate that Pap had left out. There were blackened grill marks on the bread, but nothing serious, so lunch was technically salvageable. Her grin was something he felt he could never really forget. It must be a human thing, to smile that way despite pain. That Soul tingle was getting pretty bad.  


He trudged up to his shared bathroom after an awkward chuckle. The manor’s layout was interesting, with rooms clustered around a central area, a den of sorts, like dorm rooms. Each cluster had a luxurious shared bathroom. Sans wasn’t sure why it was laid out this way, perhaps for the Monster royal family to entertain dignitaries? It was one of very few options that made sense.  


The bathroom was always stocked with plush towels. After locking the door behind him, he nuzzled one of them, rubbing it against his skull. A low purr set up in his ribs and a tint of red settled along his nasal ridge. He’d be mortified if anyone caught him like this but _damn_ he loved soft things. There weren’t enough soft things in the Underground. Years of thin, threadbare blankets and hard floors gave him a very healthy appreciation for anything so plush.  


With a sigh he parted from the towel to start up the shower. Cold or hot didn’t matter, his magic kept him comfortable although he’d been likened to a space heater by his numerous flings. He grabbed the bath brush Papyrus had gotten him and poured body wash over it. This one smelled like cinnamon and he was so fond of it he didn’t even care that it was a ‘female’ branded body wash. He scrubbed over his bones, paying particular attention to his knicks and grooves, keeping them clean. Dirt and leaves tended to find their way into all of his crevices and cracks.  


When he left the bathroom, towel slung around his hip bones, he was immediately greeted by a Cat Monster. He hadn’t bothered to remember her name when he’d been introduced a few days ago, it wasn’t important. Her eyes trailed over him like he was a canary. A pink tongue shot out to travel over her teeth.  


“Hey there.” Her voice was a purr, her luminous eyes lidded.  


His trademark grin found itself on his skull, his posture relaxed as he leaned on the doorframe. Now this was a situation he was comfortable in.  


“hey yaself, dollface.”  


She giggled, a coy grin on her muzzle. He felt a small pang of heat curl through his marrow. Oh, it had been _so long._  


“Wasn’t expecting to get such an attractive house-mate.”  


She ran a clawed paw along his radius. The slightly roughened pads of her fingers caught on his various knicks. It wasn’t unpleasant but it wasn’t pleasurable either. Still…  


“neitha wuz i, sweetcheeks.”  


He crowded close, knowing that the heat coming off his bones would be alluring to her. The black slits of her pupils dilated and she pushed closer, her chest almost pressing to the bottom of his rib cage. _So c l o s e..._  


“Perhaps we should--”  


“Hey, big guy!” The human popped her head into the dorm, startling the Cat Monster. The atmosphere had been warming and with the simple act of peeking in she’d doused it in ice. And yet his Soul did a little flip. He wasn’t sure if it was in celebration or in discomfort. It was the first time she’d really seen his bones and her eyes were roaming curiously.  


“whatchya wan’?” He couldn’t help the frustration that leaked into his growl.  


“Gonna leave as soon as you’re ready. Meet me in the kitchen.” She grinned and waved sheepishly as she left, seemingly aware that she’d ruined the mood, at least for Sans. Still, he cleared his nonexistent throat and let a grin return to his mouth.  


“sorry ‘bout that doll. lemme make it up to yas lata?” He ran a crooked phalanx along the line of her jaw. The softness of her fur was pleasant as it tickled along bone. The flirtation had its desired effect; she chuckled coquettishly, lashes fluttering, before locking eyes with him.  


“I’ll hold you to that, Judge.” She ran her hand along his sternum, right along that deep scar, earning her a lusty growl. He watched her intently as she sauntered off to her room. Fuck, her scent was lovely. It wasn’t as alluring as that damn human’s but it was definitely appealing.  


He made quick work of changing into clothes, covering every inch of his bones that he could, before teleporting to the kitchen. He was vaguely happy that Papyrus had raided his condo for clothing. If he was going to have to be out amongst humans he wanted to be comfortable and what was more comfortable than his own clothing?  


The chains at his hip jangled as he strode toward the human. She turned from fiddling with her phone, eyes bright and mouth curved in amusement.  


“Sorry, didn’t mean to keep you from gettin’ to the _bone_ zone.”  


Did she just?  


He burst into laughter. Fuck, she could be funny. Her sly little grin said she knew.  


“fuhgeddaboutit dollface,” he shrugged and grinned at her. Those eyes darkened, becoming warm and analyzing him again. His Soul did a strange little jitter.  


A moment passed of those eyes roaming his skull, taking in his expression, before she just smiled. It was a different smile than before. It was something a little softer and sadder than he was used to seeing on her face.  


This car ride was considerably more comfortable than his last, and more than his next would be, as he was in the cushy passenger seat. She flicked on the radio before pulling out of the garage. He was used to it; the human didn’t seem fond of silence. She was either chatting, tapping, or playing music from some source. It struck him as odd. He loved when silence pressed in around him, cocooning him in the illusion of safety.  


The drive took almost thirty minutes. A half an hour of the human trying to start a conversation and him ignoring her. He wasn’t sure why, perhaps it was the slight sexual frustration paired with that scent filling the car, perhaps it was the mounting tension in his marrow at having to be around a crowd of humans, perhaps it was just that it had been a year since he’d been in the front seat of the car, but he was **t e n s e**. Every few seconds his magic would buzz along his bones, agitated and only growing more active. His bones became uncomfortably tense, grinding together as the magic that kept them chained pulled tighter and tighter.  


By the time she pulled into a parking spot, grinning awkwardly but completely unaware of just how wound up he was, he was bouncing his leg and his fingers were twitching. He was quick to get out of the somewhat cramped cabin of the car, inhaling as deeply as he subtly could. He didn’t want to bring any attention to his anxiety. She seemed like the worrying type.  


The store was a moderately large and filled comfortably for its size. It was too much. So many people, so many smells. Humans tended to have stronger scents than Monsters and they all smelled so different. There were no words to describe the olfactory cocktail he was served. His nasal cavity ached. The magic that had spent half an hour jittering over his bones became like a live wire.  


She snatched up one of those plastic hand baskets and strolled along the food aisles. She threw him simple yes or no questions that he answered with grunts. The smells were overwhelming. Older humans shuffled along, sagging skin bruised and flaking and he’d shudder whenever one passed him. Babies were gross too, flinging body fluids and screaming, the shrill sounds making his skull feel ready to split.  


His magic reacted beyond his control, spiking inside his marrow with every squeal, every shout, every kid that ran past and jostled him in their desperate chase to catch their target or fetch something they wanted. It pulled tighter on his bones with every sharp look, with every wary clutch of a purse, with every single adult that pulled their child close with fear and suspicion painted on their faces. He really wanted to leave.  


The human he followed ignored all of this, as if this was standard behavior. As if she wasn’t getting glared at for having his gargantuan ass following behind her like an irate attack dog. The heavy collar he wore around his neck to give structure to his red turtleneck felt too heavy. The steel toed boots he wore made him drag his feet, it was only because of the length of his stride that he could keep up with the considerably smaller human.  


He couldn’t even pay attention to what she was snatching up and she’d stopped asking him questions since he’d proven he was shit for answering. How fucking long would he have to follow her around this stars-forsaken store? He knew Papyrus would want him to, safety in numbers and all that, but damn he just wanted to ‘port to the manor. He preferred the confines of that damn bedroom over this.  


The stars seemed to take pity on him after an old woman sneezed on him before gasping in shock that he was a six foot four inch tall skeleton. The human walked to the check-out lane, paid the cashier, whose mouth flopped open and remained thus after seeing Sans, and she sauntered out to the car.  


He felt too hot, his bones too small, and not even stepping into the open air helped. His magic felt untamable and he felt unstable. Memories, jagged and painful, were threatening him. Memories of being in a cramped Underground, memories of gnashing teeth and Dust clinging to his claws, memories of marrow spilling from his innocent babybones.  


The car ride was worse. He would rather have been shoved in the back floorboard. She didn’t bother with conversation at least but the radio station she chose was terrible. She seemed vaguely pleased with it, humming softly, and tapping the steering wheel to the beat. The lack of silence was only making his skull feel ready to split and the tight confines of the car, the strap rubbing against his scar through his shirt, made every breath feel constricted.  


He almost jumped out of the car while it was still in motion; she’d not fully pulled into the garage when he’d stumbled out and bolted for the door. The countertop was cold, the water he forced into his maw colder, and still his bones felt too warm. His magic was too wound up. Maybe he should go outside and work some of the tension off? He’d exhaust himself completely but that was preferable to how uncomfortably tight everything was right now. He yanked his jacket and turtleneck off, leaving himself in a tank top that clung tightly to his sweating bones.  


He didn’t even hear the human approach.  


“Sans, you okay big guy?”  


Her voice was soft, cautious. Her fingers were even softer, like satin against his bones. She pressed her hand to his humerus and--  


Needles. Pressing deep. Too deep. Marrow deep.  


Latex gloves covering strong hands. This grip was strong too. Restraining.  


He didn’t want any more shots.  


He felt hot enough.  


Let him go.  


Please.  


A whine passed his teeth, he pulled from the grasp, or he thought he did. He still felt the impression.  


Lights were too bright, colors too vivid. His mind whirled, his lights extinguished, and he felt his magic spike so hard he couldn’t handle it.  


He puked.  


Red, viscous magic poured from his open maw, splattering onto the floor. It reminded him of marrow.  


Marrow splashed on a cage floor. The sharp press of a blade. Cold, analytical voices. Firm hands. Panic. Expelling his magic like that left him empty and tired and cold. 

He thought of his bed. Traversing through the void was quick, too quick for that malicious, cold pressure. He dropped onto his bed, completely drained. He was asleep before his head hit the mattress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: Code 5150 means that the officer is encountering someone with clear mental issues or a mental breakdown. Which 100% was Sans today.


	13. Entry 13: Work Related Injury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You try to address the issue with Sans, but are left unsatisfied. And then he has a work related incident.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger Warning:** Death, violence, implied drugging, brief sexual content (not explicit and, sorry, not with Reader).  
Hello my lovelies! Holidays been keeping me way too busy. But I'm back! Enjoy the next chapter of my special brand of fuckery!

You rolled over in bed, a weight in your stomach making you feel leaden. You knew this feeling. Most cops develop this sort of ‘sixth sense’, as the rookies call it, after a few years. Your mentor had called it ‘reading the sky’; it was that irrefutable but unfounded knowledge that _something_ was going to go horribly wrong. You knew it had to be because of what’d you’d done to Sans.  


He’d avoided you all day yesterday. It was quite a feat considering you’d spent plenty of time with Papyrus, going over contingencies for emergencies and preparing for worst-case scenarios, and he’d somehow managed to say good-bye to his brother despite you being attached to the taller skeleton’s hip. You curled in tighter, bringing your knees closer to your chest, trying to pull away from the cooler spots on the bed. You could understand _why_ he’d avoided you but it didn’t take away the sting. Yeah, you weren’t friends exactly but you were getting to know each other and, more importantly, you were going to need him.  


Laying there wasn’t easing the feeling in your gut and it definitely wasn’t getting work done, so you pushed yourself into a sitting position using your elbows and forearms. Your hands weren’t aching right now but putting weight on them was a sure way to pop the blisters, which would definitely be painful. The first aid kit was left out on the counter of the bathroom you shared with Papyrus, the thoughtful skeleton had made it easy for you to access. A bright yellow sticky note was covered with his very neat writing. A smile curved your mouth; he always wrote in all caps and you could definitely hear his loud, scratchy voice dictating to you how to properly treat your burns.  


_FIRST PREP YOUR GAUZE. IF YOU RUIN THE ROLL WITH OINTMENT _ _YOU’RE_ _ BUYING A NEW ONE.  
_

__

CAREFULLY _REMOVE THE TOP TO THE OINTMENT._  


This brings a small smile to your mouth. The cap was already loose.  


_APPLY A THIN LAYER OF THE OINTMENT TO BURNS AND THEN COVER WITH GAUZE._  


The directions were all common sense; your partner was just a neurotic mother hen and had to make sure you received the best care and advice possible-- which could only come from him, of course. Oh! There was a tiny note in the same careful handwriting at the bottom of the sticky.  


_I WOULD HOPE YOU KNOW TO REMOVE YOUR FILTHY BANDAGES BEFORE APPLYING NEW ONES, BUT IN CASE YOU’VE FORGOTTEN, HERE IS YOUR REMINDER. YOU WON’T GET ANOTHER ONE._  


At that you finally laugh. Only Papyrus could come across as vaguely condescending and threatening while also being an overbearing helicopter parent.  


Some areas of your hands were almost red, the blisters along your palms and on a few fingertips were bulbous, slightly yellowed, and throbbing angrily. You followed the directions, one injured hand caring for the other until both were coated in a thin layer of burn ointment. You wish you’d known sooner that touching magic, when that potent, agitated, and concentrated into a physical form, uncontrolled by it’s absurdly powerful generator, was the equivalent of touching a live wire and putting your hands in a fireplace.  


Once your fingers were re-wrapped, you sat on the lid of the toilet, staring at the fresh bandages. They were slightly damp in places from the fresh coating of ointment. You deserved this. You had recognized all the signs of his rising panic; the way he’d been breathing so heavy, how he’d stomped around the store, how he’d only grunted. His lights had been small and jittery in his sockets but you’d pressed on. He hadn’t said he wanted to leave and you’d thought he was like Papyrus. Pap used to have problems shopping too, and when he’d felt overloaded he’d throw a tantrum, cursing and shouting about the lack of quality of the food before stomping out without his groceries.  


However, hindsight is 20/20 and you now knew that Sans had very little in common with his brother. Sans just grunted and bore it, sweating and terrified the whole time you’d walked around the store. When an elderly lady sneezed and then gasped in shock at him, you knew it was time to go. His eye lights had been nearly extinguished, thick red sweat had dripped down the curve of his skull, soaking the collar of his clothing, and his bones had been rattling. You’d only ever seen that happen with Papyrus twice.  


A sigh found its way out of your mouth and you almost dropped your head into your hands. You stopped just shy of it, closing your eyes and shifting your position on the toilet. That would have been a thoughtless and painful mistake. You were making a lot of those lately. You trailed the fingers of one hand against the other.  


A vague thought crossed your mind that you should have been hurt worse. It would have been a little more fair. The image of his face, sockets so wide and empty, maw parted, barely breathing, bones jostling against each other, right before he hunched over, was etched into your brain. You’d never seen such terror, not once in your ten years of civil service. You couldn’t imagine what had been done to make a Monster that huge and powerful quake so terribly.  


“Pap, I dun fucked up.” You whispered, wishing he could hear you.  


He would probably scold you and then hug you. Or at least you _hoped_ he would. When it came to Sans he was a very different skeleton. Another fretful sigh left your mouth and you flexed your fingers. Movement was stiff but passable. You’d have to wear gloves tonight, heiresses didn’t tend to have burnt hands, but they were adequately mobile.  


After cleaning your mess, you shuffled towards your room. You couldn’t help but stop in the den and stare at the empty couch. It’d only happened a handful of times but you missed seeing that big, bulky, shark-toothed skeleton and his blanket nest. His laughter would fill the room, followed by Papyrus’ booming rasp of _‘TURN THAT GARBAGE OFF SANS IT’S ROTTING YOUR BRAIN’_, which would make the older skeleton laugh even more. Sometimes so hard he’d have tears, red and bright, rolling down his magically flexible skull. You felt your shoulders drop a little; you may have ruined your chances at seeing that, at least for a little while.  


You covered as much of your skin as you could, even wearing socks and slippers. You didn’t want to risk upsetting him if his mental state was still fragile. The anxious twitching and twisting happening in your abdomen worried you; you had suspicions he was indeed in a delicate state of mind and tonight’s fight would not end well.  


There was no answer when you knocked at the door to the room-cluster where the Monsters were housed. Muffled voices leaked from beneath the door but nothing clear. You couldn’t even place whether they were male or female. You knocked again. Still no answer. So you cracked open the door and popped your head in.  


“He--” Your greeting died on your tongue.  


You’d seen some bones before, Papyrus had worn his Royal Guard armor around you before, but nothing like _this_. Sans’ bones were so _thick_ and… _oh!_ Your face felt warm, from your ears down to your chest. The door clicked quietly behind you and took your weight without complaint. That was going to be something that was hard to forget. A low, sensual chuckle rumbled from the other room; he’d probably spotted you before you ducked out. Now, leaned against the door, it was easier to hear the soft moans, low growls, and slick sounds that were unmistakable. You had to stop yourself, again, from dropping your head into your hands.  


It was hours later when Sans bothered to seek you out. You’d taken refuge in the kitchen to write reports and do interviews. The other Monsters had fled their room-cluster to avoid the sight you walked in on, making it a little easier to approach them. When the skeleton eased himself onto a stool and grinned at you, all arrogance, you wished you had his magical ability to warp time and space. Even looking at his clothed chest was difficult because you knew what laid beneath.  


“whadjya need earliah, dollface?”  


The heat in your face was undeniable and it was impossible to meet his eyelights. How could he could so calm? You couldn’t unhear his groans, his growls, the way his voice dipped into a lower register when he chuckled. How the hell did he manage to sound so _sinful_ while asking a simple question? You were going to need a hefty bucket of brain-bleach to get those images out of your mind.  


“Just wanted to talk to you. Didn’t expect you to be _tied up_.”  


Well, shit, that slipped out. Glancing at his expression only increased the heat in your face and the embarrassment winding the muscles of your throat tighter. His grin was positively _wicked._  


“m’a busy monsta. m’free now, jus’ had ta work out a few _kinks_ in my schedulin’.”  


You choked on your laughter.  


“For three hours?”  


“it was a lil’ _nuts_. schedule was pretty _tight._”  


An inelegant snort of laughter left your mouth and you slapped your hand over it to stifle any further noises.  


“don’ kill yaself laughin’ sweetheart.” He sounded far too amused. And you just adored the way he said ‘sweetheart’. That Brooklyn accent twisted the ‘heart’ part to sound like ‘haht’. It sounded like he grew up watching 1920’s gangster flicks.  


“While that is completely possible, I’ve got a high tolerance for humor.”  


“i can tell.”  


His smile reached his eyes, creating those little crinkles by his socket. Not for the first time you marveled at how flexible the bone was. Papyrus’ worked much the same way, allowing him to be so expressive. Sans’ smile, though, had a very different effect on you than your skeletal partner’s. After a moment his smile started to fall a little and you realized you’d been staring at him for longer than was polite.  


“Uh, I really did need to talk to you, if you’ve got time.”  


“my aftanoon s’free. got a date at seven, tho.”  


You nodded, knowing what ‘date’ he was talking about. It figured that now that you had the opportunity to talk about his panic attack, you couldn’t find the words. Your hands gestured helplessly while you floundered for them. He went to the fridge, grabbed a soda, and returned before you even knew where to begin. His grin was small but his bright eyelights seemed amused rather than strained.  


“tha’ hard ta talk ‘bout?”  


Damn that shit eating grin!  


“Well, yeah, talking about mental health usually is.” Your tone is almost waspish. His lights dim.  


“No! I mean-- it’s not-- well, I mean it is--”  


He held up a hand and you stopped floundering. He wasn’t wearing mittens and his hands were so unlike Papyrus’. It was intriguing, how different they were. Papyrus’ hands were more like the skeletal hands you’d seen in textbooks, with tiny metacarpal bones held together by barely visible strands of magic. Sans’ hands were more like an approximation of human hands. The metacarpal bones were fused into a hand-plate that looked almost exactly like a normal palm, just without the lines and dips made by muscle and skin. His fingers were almost like the textbook phalanges but the distal phalanx ended with a sharp point, like a claw.  


“don’ gotta say nothin’ doll. ya didn’ mean none’a tha’ shit ta happen. s’not sumthin’ ya can control.” His lights dimmed further. Your stomach knotted painfully. “m’tha one with issues. i’ll get ova it.”  


Those dim lights almost disappear when they spot your bandaged hands. His smile had steadily dropped into nothingness and now the corners of his mouth seemed strained. You almost reached out to him; he seemed ready to run.  


“No!” He jumped slightly. You hadn’t meant to be so loud. “It’s… I’m trained to spot body language and I ignored my training. I treated you like your brother. I thought you’d tell me, throw a fit, something, when you became overwhelmed. It’s not your fault.”  


Now he was looking at you weird. His expressions were a little more familiar but still not something you could easily read. The way his sockets squinted a little, the way the area above one of the sockets quirked upwards, like an eyebrow, seemed...scrutinizing?  


“I can’t take any of that back but I am sorry.” You really wished you could touch him. So much more could be communicated through sympathetic touches. “I just… Are you okay? Tonight’s gonna be rough. I don’t want to make the same mistake and just assume.”  


He’s silent for a little while. That expression is still on his skull. Then the tension above his sockets lifts and his grin is back in place. You’re not sure if it’s genuine as it doesn’t seem to meet his eyes, but it doesn’t seem fake either.  


“i’ll tell ya next time i’m havin’ issues. sound good doll?”  


You have a feeling he’s not going to actually tell you but you decide to leave it alone for the time being. You’ll call him out later if he doesn’t follow through.  


“Yeah, sounds good.”  


The rest of the day is so routine it hurts. How can you focus on all these budget forms and tracking down every receipt when you’ve got to steel yourself for another death match tonight? How can you care about blue ink or black, or what the gas level in the rentals is, when you’re going to put Sans’ life on the line again in just a few short hours?  


But fussing with the paperwork, copying and faxing, and filing in triplicate, helps pass the day. And before you know it, before you want it, you’re driving across New Ebbot with Sans scrunched into the floorboards of the sports car. He seemed so uncomfortable and unwilling but you couldn’t take chances that he’d be spotted in the back seat.  


Finding parking in this lot is easier than the first fight. There are less people at this one; it’s slightly more exclusive. A deep breath steadies you but doesn’t stop the ache in your chest when you yank the chain connected to Sans’ collar. He pauses briefly, his broad shoulders lifting up towards his skull, before continuing to try to pull himself free of the back seat. A couple walks by and you force yourself to growl.  


“Hurry up you useless Monster.” The words hold so much venom that it feels like it should burn your mouth on the way out. Sans flinches slightly at the verbal abuse, still struggling to be free of the vehicle, and you want to apologize. It’s not true, not in the least, but you’re surrounded by Monster haters and abusers, so being remotely kind to one would be suspicious.  


When he finally pulls himself free, he hunches in on himself, sockets trained on the space right in front of his feet. He looks defeated and meek, nothing like the powerful, almost arrogant skeleton that you’d seen him be a few days ago when he was flirting with that Cat Monster. Hell, even his behavior around you was more confident than this.  


You tug at the leash occasionally, trying to keep him close as you weave through the gathering crowd, even if it is rougher than necessary. There is more room to maneuver than the last time. You’re not bumping into people every few feet. As you make your way to the bookie, the same Irishman as last time, you can’t help but notice that there are more women here. The last fight had been a complete sausage-fest. But were they observers or entertainment? A few you recognized as prostitutes. You hoped they didn’t recognize you; you weren’t as good at makeup as Papyrus was.  


“Good ta see ya back darlin’.”  


You grin at the red-head in greeting, handing over your wad of money. It was thicker this time, Papyrus was confident in Sans’ abilities.  


“On my fighter.”  


“A’carse darlin’. Big guy proved hisself. Might be a real contender tanight.”  


You smile politely in response. The guy likes to hear himself talk and normally you indulged these people for the sake of gathering evidence, but you were stiff, worried. Papyrus wasn’t listening to the broadcast of your wire, it was just recording and playing to an empty room. That little ball of lead was still rolling about your guts, making itself known whenever the situation shifted.  


The set up was much the same here as it was in the first location: rooms were closed off and guarded, more dilapidated areas of this abandoned warehouse were roped off, and private security stood watch at almost every corner. The emblem on their vests wasn’t familiar, meaning it wasn’t legit. N.E.P.D. officers were under contract to at least give cursory training of proper arrest methods and weapon handling to every private security firm in the city.  


The exclusive room for the fighters and their owners is more lavish here. Before there were some sofas, a small bar, the basics of entertainment-- a television or two showing previous fights or other blood sports and a small sound system so that the entire room knew what was playing on the television. This room was a step up. Plush carpet instead of cement, more sofas and lounges made of better materials. The t.v. screens were larger, the sound system more complex if the neatly managed cables were any indicator. The bar was stocked better, the alcohol varied in quality and type. A glass of wine here would come from a bottle, not a box. Not sure why that would matter-- to you wine was wine-- but a handful of people could be heard disparaging the miniscule offerings of box wine. It did let you know where they fell on the socio-economic ladder.  


Once more, having Sans behind you as you ordered a drink, one you didn’t plan on actually partaking of, drew attention. Most fighters in these arenas were Monsters that were easier to capture, Bunny Monsters and Cats. Skeletons were on the rare side. And your names preceded you, with that bold little stunt you pulled the last time.  


“Hey, hey, the infamous Reaper. Heard he teleports.” He leers too close. You take quick note, roughly five foot ten, average build, maybe 160 pounds, white, blonde hair, brown eyes, tattoo of a spider on his neck. You wouldn’t liken your mind to a steel trap, but a paper notebook. You tend to remember what you ‘wrote down’ but anything else could be lost.  


“You’ll have to watch him fight to find out.” Playing coy left a bad taste in your mouth but that was the persona Papyrus thought would be best. Coy and flirtatious would play to the egos of the type of people who would involve themselves in these kinds of activities. It would let you slide under their radars and gather information. Who was the head honcho for this ring? Who oversaw the whole organization? Who did the bookie answer to? Where did all the funds come from? All important questions you didn’t yet have answers for.  


“Did you really pull a gun on Smith?” This one bounced up-- female, five foot four, slight build, fire engine red hair, grey eyes, three piercings on her left eyebrow-- inquisitive and almost friendly, if it weren’t for a slight narrowing of her eyes.  


“Yes. I don’t take kindly to threats.” You manage to keep your tone light, as if it was inconsequential information. Playing the way Papyrus said you should was hard, it wasn’t you. It’s what you hated most about going undercover. You had to lose yourself in a personality different from yours but try to remember who you really were at the end of it.  


“If you’ll excuse me, I need to take the trash out back.” You tugged Sans’ leash at the same time, managing to be flippant and disdainful.  


The holding room was more secure. Cameras were in the corners, a guard sat just inside the door. No privacy for a pep talk or to check up on your partner. Uncuffing him was done in oppressive silence, tainted with the horrible attitude you had to keep. You jerked the cuffs off his wrists roughly and shot him disgusted looks before pointing at an empty bench as if you were a cross parent and he, a misbehaving child. The small grins that curved the faces of the guards let you know you were acting correctly even as it speared pain through your heart and forced that heavy ball to twist about in your stomach.  


As if his slumped shoulders and measured shuffle weren’t heartbreaking enough, watching him sink onto that bench, eyelights low and dim, damn near broke your act. He looked so genuinely broken. The pain in your chest intensified, something in you throwing a fit over it. You knew it was just an act, he had to look obedient and mistreated, but he was so convincing.  


Nothing could be done about it though, so you hung his chains from the designated hook and left the room without a backwards glance, as any other Monster abuser would. You catalogued the cameras, their positions and movements, as well as the security. It wasn’t something you’d remember precisely but having a vague notion of where everything was could come in handy later. That foreboding feeling twisted harder in your stomach.  


Mingling with the crowd, waiting for the fights, was the second hardest part of all of this. How many inane conversations about the alcohol did you have to have? What made any of these people think they had any grounds to talk politics? None of them had any knowledge of or compassion for the very beings they were discussing the future of.  


“After 10 years, you’d think they’d learn.”  


“--more like merchandise. We should be able to sell them in stores.”  


“I know right? I’d be rolling in the dough. Too bad there’s so many bleeding heart liberals in office right now.”  


“--giving them rights? Ha! It’d be like granting full citizenship to dogs.”  


“Their ambassador is a _child_, how intelligent could they really be?”  


So many overheard conversations, so many voices recorded, and not one of the speakers was worth the oxygen they consumed. Unfortunately you still had to squeeze personal information from them. The professions of the people attending surprised you; you hadn’t expected such variety. There were some unemployed, gang members, pimps, drug dealers, lawyers, an alderman, and a handful of professors. The alderman, professors, and lawyers made you sick; they were in power, capable of influencing policy or the next generation, and they were placing bets in the underbelly of New Ebbot, wanting one Monster to kill another for their profit.  


It was more draining this time than last time. At least last time they’d been essentially powerless no-name criminals; this time you had names you had to remember. You managed to smile and give your story with no slips; oil-company heiress just looking for a fun way to rapidly increase your fortune while reminding those ‘filthy creatures’ of their place.  


_That_ definitely drew the big fish you were looking for: Yuri Vladoff, the head of this particular death ring. You were playing a person of influence, of course he’d come to collect you and get in your good graces. It could mean more money circulating his ring. His hand rested on your lower back, just within the realm of polite. You took note of his appearance for your reports later.  


“So, Ms. Starling, it’s rare for a woman like you to mingle with the lower caste.” He chuckled, as if he was telling a joke, cigarette bouncing between his fingers.  


“I was introduced by a friend of my late father. They told me the only way to get into the rings of the higher class was to fight through the lower rings and make a name for myself.”  


“That’s usually true. Unless you know some people.” His hand started to slide a little lower, his voice dipping suggestively. “Would you like me to introduce you?”  


You were saved by the announcer calling the first fight.  


“Round one! Reaper versus Plague!”  


“Can’t miss my fight.” You bowed out demurely to join the crowd at the pit.  


It was set up much the same as the other warehouse; there must be someone setting a standard for these things. The pit was located on a floor or two below the one you were on, cement walls caging in the Monsters, with metal railings at the top to keep people from just falling in. Crude but effective.  


Sans and a Rabbit Monster strolled out. Plague was shorter, with patchy grey fur and twitchy hands. They were fast, immediately forming magic attacks-- little white pellets that shot out in some sort of pattern-- but Sans was faster. Red bones formed a barricade between himself and Plague. The little white pellets sizzled as they slammed into the makeshift barrier, but otherwise were ineffective. Before the last pellet reached the wall of bones, several waves of smaller white bones rippled from the barrier, forcing Plague backwards. An electric hum, like an older fridge, was the only warning the Rabbit was given. A white beam blindsided them, carving a four foot around hole in the concrete and filling the air with the scent of burnt hair.  


Sans rolled his shoulders and skull, spine popping obscenely, before striding from the arena. He’d taken only half a minute to decimate his opponent, leaving many of the attendees speechless.  


“Winner! Reaper!” The announcer called after a pregnant pause.  


The second round was announced, another two Monsters strolled out. A Cat and a Vulkin. Their battle lasted longer, although you barely had a moment to pay attention. That skeeze was back, a drink in hand.  


“Bookie says the skeleton’s your fighter.”  


“He is.”  


“He’s impressive. How did you manage to make him so strong?”  


You didn’t have any answers for him, not really. Papyrus and Sans trained together; their regiment and schedule wasn’t something you were privy to.  


“From what I understand skeletons are rare,” it wasn’t a completely bullshitted answer, but it wasn’t one that could completely explain Sans’ power. “I believe he may be a Boss Monster. The other skeleton Monster, the cop, I’ve heard he is. Stands to reason that their sub-category always produces Boss Monsters.”  


Out of the corner of your eye, you watch the Cat monster cover their claws with magic and generate little white projectiles. The projectiles struck in a zig-zag pattern, forcing the Vulkin into a corner, where the Cat struck viciously. Claws ripped into the soft earth-like surface. Red magma splattered to the ground and solidified, rapidly cooling as it left the Vulkin’s cavity. Bile rose in your throat.  


“Beautiful sight, isn’t it?”  


“Hm?” You hummed, a knee-jerk response to being caught not paying attention. His response was a condescending chuckle and a nod of his head to the fight.  


It wasn’t a fight anymore. The Cat Monster was shredding the soft earth of the Vulkin, magma splattering the cement walls, dripping from fur, pooling on the dust-covered floor. The screams of the ravaged Monster could barely be heard over the cheers of the people who bet on the Cat.  


“It’s beautiful. Watching these Monsters fight. It’s what they were made for.”  


“Like well bred dogs?” You offered, distracted.  


“Exactly.” He sounded far too happy with your answer.  


The Vulkin’s screams dissolved into a pitiful wail before it Dusted, crumbling to the floor. Your mouth felt dry and that leaden feeling in your stomach intensified. Sans fought the Cat from the previous round, making even quicker work of them. The cheers for Sans were few; his wins were too quick, too clean, for this blood thirsty crowd. It made you sick to watch him impale the Cat, to watch his eyelights glow more intensely and his magic ripple off of him in violent red waves. His expression wasn’t blank. It was hard to read from so far away, but you could see the tension in his posture, the frustration in his quick gestures, and the anger in his step.  


Your stomach twisted as he walked back into the black abyss that was the holding room. He deserved a better life than this. Not for the first time you wished that humanity was better.  


“Excuse me,” you politely addressed your unwanted companion, “I need a refill.”  


Your glass had been emptying very slowly until the fights. You’d admit to a little stress drinking. Your next drink was virgin; you didn’t want to risk intoxication, since the first one had done fuck all for the apprehension in your gut. You were glad for the reprieve though. Another fight had begun, retaining the ring leader’s attention while you waited for your soda.  


The cheering in the crowd announced a winner. That dreadful coil in your stomach tightened. Sans would be fighting the winner of that fight. Last round. You took a sip of your soda as you made your way to the arena, hoping the fizzy liquid would stabilize you. It didn’t.  


“Final Round! Reaper versus Aethyst.”  


A bulky Bear Monster entered the arena. Their height challenged Sans’. When the skeleton emerged he was stumbling. You couldn’t see his lights too clearly but they _seemed_ unfocused. His movements were a little uncoordinated. He was shaking his skull.  


The Bear moved quickly, magic shooting out in strange forms, trying to pierce the skeleton’s frame. He teleported… right within the range of the Bear’s magic-coated claws. The Bear was clearly an opportunist; his claws shredded Sans’ sternum. He stumbled, red marrow leaking onto his black clothing. Your breath caught in your throat. A laser shooting skull appeared, maw open and beam charging, while Sans attempted to back away. He seemed even more uncoordinated; he almost tripped on his shoelaces.  


Your heart hammered hard in your chest. This situation didn’t look good. Sans was only an adjunct. You were responsible for him and his safety. His death would be on your hands. You couldn’t help the way you gripped the railing. It was taking all of your discipline to school your face into an emotionless mask.  


“Not so great a fighter now, eh?” The snide remark only made that weight in your gut intensify. It confirmed that something was off. You didn’t answer him, your eyes trained on the skeleton.  


Sweat coated his skull, visible even this far away. He was scampering about the enclosed space, firing bone attack after bone attack, dodging heavy swipes of magic tipped claws. He missed most of the time, leading you to believe his vision was impaired. You could understand him missing someone small, like in his first few fights, but this Bear was his size!  


“_fuck!_”  


You could hear his hissed curse as the Bear landed another swipe, catching him around his scapula, the force of the blow knocking him forward several feet. More marrow dribbled, dampening his clothing. He had summoned a handful of floating skulls, fired rows and rows of bones, and you knew he had to be getting tired. He seemed agitated, his movements sharper and jerky.  


He tried teleporting again. You knew something was really wrong then. He only moved a few feet to one side, again right into the range of his opponent. It was too stupid a move to be made deliberately. Sans stumbled once he popped back into existence, only to catch Aethyst’s claws across his skull. There was a sickening crack as the claws ripped through bone.  


Then it was as if the pain of that attack sobered him. He ‘ported clear across the arena, summoned a circle of those demonic skulls, impaled the Monster with jagged bones, and then let the beams of energy loose. The blasters burrowed several holes into the concrete, destroying support beams and decimating weight retaining walls.  


The floor cracked, the sound ominous and echoing. Patrons shouted and ran in all directions, panicking like ants in a tunnel rapidly filling with water. The floor caved in beneath you, slanting towards the pit. Your heart was pounding, your head buzzed, and your guts were twisting. The only cohesive thought was to get Sans home.  


Taking advantage of the chaos, you slid down the slanted floor, dropping to the floor beside Sans. He’d collapsed, marrow pooling beneath him, soaking his shirt. Panic attack be damned, your hands found his bones. They were cooler than normal. His eyelights were unfocused, gazing through you instead of at you.  


“Sans, bud, you gotta get us outta here.” You plead, voice shaking.  


He shook his skull. You could understand he was weak, but there was no way in hell you could lift his big boned ass.  


“Come on, one quick ‘port. Take us home. I can help you once we’re outta here.”  


You stroked over his skull, wiping away a thick coat of cooled sweat and sticky, warm marrow. Dust mingled with the liquids on his skull, making them gritty. You weren’t sure if it was his own or his opponents. He stared hard at you, his lights flickering and fuzzy, for just a moment before his sockets closed.  


It felt strange. Like a tug behind your navel, the sensation of flying backwards, of hitting zero-G. A cold, oppressive darkness surrounded you for a few moments. Then you were on the floor in the den. Your hands cupped his skull. More sweat had replaced what you’d wiped away and marrow dripped onto the carpet. His breathing was rapid, wheezy. His hands covered the gouges in his sternum, visible through the shreds of his shirt.  


“I’ll be right back. Hold on.” Panic made your voice high pitched.  


You took a moment to kick off those ridiculous shoes, running straight to Papyrus’ room. This was definitely worse than the worst case either of you had thought of. But Papyrus was nothing if not meticulous; he’d concentrated his healing magic, an extremely rare form, into something viscous to be used with bandages or drank directly. A quick prayer to your neurotic bestie was all you had time for.  


You slid on your knees like a baseball player sliding home right to Sans’ side. You popped the cork on a bottle and lifted it to his maw.  


“Sans, open your mouth. Come on, dude, open.”  


You nudged the slim vial against his shark-teeth. They barely creaked open. His breathing was a whisper against your shaking fingers. Tears pricked your eyes. Fuck this was bad. You upended the whole vial into his mouth. Theoretically, it would stabilize him. Then you snagged the first aid kit and several towels. It’d be better if they were wet but you didn’t really want to risk his life.  


Papyrus had explained that Sans was fragile; any blow could kill him. You weren’t sure how he managed to take as many as he did today but you weren’t going to push your luck. Your eyes burned viciously, tears making tracks down your face as you wiped marrow from his face. The only indicator you had of his life was the rapid rise and fall of his chest. You slathered the green shit on the gauze and taped it over the side of his face, covering his wound. It ran from a few inches above his socket to the corner of his mouth.  


His shredded shirt ripped easily under your adrenaline-strengthened hands. More goop on gauze, gauze over wound. The makeshift bandages were large, covering every inch of wounded bone. Rolling him onto his shoulder was a chore. You’d had to dig your heels in to move his dead weight and brace your leg against the couch in order to keep him from rolling back. Once the bandage was in place, you were stuck playing the waiting game. Human remedies didn’t work on Monsters.  


You let him fall back. His breathing was slower. You weren’t sure if that was a good sign. The bandages were already tinting pink from the marrow that leaked from the deep slashes. You cupped his cheek. He was colder than normal. The bone was smooth, like a polished stone, but it had a little give to it. It wasn’t quite like flesh. Papyrus’ bones were far more rigid; they had no give.  


The only thing you could think to do is make him comfortable. Marrow soaked the ground beneath him. So you slipped towels beneath him, glad that skeletons had so many open spaces, swathed him in soft blankets, propped his skull on a pillow, and waited. Seeing his sockets closed, his breathing slow but shallow, covered in bandages… it finally hit you. Adrenaline left. You sobbed into your ruined gloves, pain be damned. You’d almost lost your partner's brother. You still might.


	14. Entry 14: Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans POV  
Recovery takes place on more than one front.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger Warning**: Blood/Marrow, Mentions of abuse, Mentions of Violence, Mentions of Sexual Abuse (very slight but still), panic attack(s) and symptoms  
Boy this chapter is fulla bad stuff. But it's fulla good stuff too.  
Thank all of you for your kudos, comments, and continued reader-ship. You guys make me so happy!

Pain made itself known bit by bit, information slowly being relayed to his Soul as he returned to consciousness, although he kept his sockets closed. It built and built, like a fire being fed dry wood. The fire raced across his skull, strongest around his socket, and along his ribs, almost reaching his sternum from his shoulder. He felt like he’d been hit by a Mac truck, lit on fire, and had the fire put out by a hammer. The last time he’d felt this much pain had been when Pap had become ‘Boss’.  


The memories threatened to surface and he moved to scratch his sternum. He couldn’t lift his arm. Any attempt made his marrow feel like it was on fire, so he just had to put up with the itch in his bones. Just when the pain was reaching its peak, when he knew he’d have to open his eyes and see what’s causing it, that scent washed over him. It soothed the fire in his bones, eased the ache, and called to his Soul.  


The memory that was triggered by that smell was one that didn’t itch. When Frisk had broken the barrier the sky was dark as pitch, roaring and flashing brilliantly, with water pelting his bones. The Underground didn’t have simulated rain.Sans had turned his skull to the sky, awe filling him. At the base of the outcropping near the barrier had been a field of flowers of all colors, none of which he knew the name of.  


The scent of all those flowers, delicate and sweet, mixed with the petrichor and ozone. The fact that rain and lightning even had a smell had thoroughly fucked his mind for a while, the air was the same no matter where you were Underground-- stale, slightly chalky, with a very vague hint of lemon. That smell was pure freedom.  


“Sans?”  


She sounded stuffy, her voice wavering, but hopeful. He opened his sockets. Darkness filled half of his vision. His hands jolted up to touch his face, pain burning down his ribs as he jostled his ribs. A hiss escaped his maw.  


“Shit dude! Don’t move so fast!” She scolded.  


Her hands caught his wrists to keep him from clawing at his face. Her grip was firm and his vision spun. Pressure rose in his marrow, his magic bubbled and pushed on his bones. Shit! He was going to puke. Again.  


“Hey, hey, focus on me big guy.” Her voice was calm, soothing. It focused him on something else, something being passed through her touch. A weak tingle shot up his arm, like a watered down version of the bolt that shot through his Soul whenever her eyes actually met his lights, followed by warmth. Intent. She was worried, she wanted him to heal. If humans had magic, she’d make a great healer, the Intent was kind and the delivery of it was powerful.  


It didn’t take away his nausea but it did dull the edge; puking wasn’t an inevitability although the world still spun and his magic still bubbled. He managed a weak grin.  


“mus’ be in pretty rough shape f’ya ta be makin’ tha’ face.”  


Her brows were knit close, her fleshy face was reddened and splotchy, and dried tear trails reflected light. His hand twitched with the slightest urge to wipe away the evidence on her face. It wouldn’t get hide how spiky her lashes were but at least it’d be less obvious.  


“You look as hot as anyone who got their ass beat by a Bear could.” Her voice wavered as she joked, tears threatening to spill over her lower lashes.  


“ya should see tha otha guy.” He shot back, cocky smirk in its rightful place.  


It earned him a weak chuckle. At least she didn’t look so stricken and lost.  


“f’real, doll, how bad izzit?”  


“Wait here for a moment.” She sniffled, wiping her face with her sleeve.  


He tried to move the moment she’d shuffled out of sight, which wasn’t long since it was that socket that was apparently blind, but was met with outrage from his battered bones. Another hiss was pulled from his mouth and he was resigned to staring at the ceiling. It dawned on him then that he was laying on the floor and that something was stuck to his back.  


The sound of her feet rubbing against the carpet warned him of her return. He could practically hear Papyrus shouting at her to pick up her feet. She pushed a mirror into his hands and helped him position it, her head over his blind side. The mirror threw light that blinded him for a second before she had it tilted just right. Clean gauze covered his left socket and the left side of his ribs.  


“I’m gonna take off the bandages, okay?”  


He didn’t say anything, too focused on watching her fingers move. The firm pressure of her fleshy hands had his nausea spiking. He clenched his jaw. That little electric tingle shot along the curve of his skull, carrying her Intent. It helped him focus on what was so different about her touch. The blue hands that had touched him had been firm too, miniscule nubbies on the latex gloves making his bones crawl. Her bare fingers felt satiny, her touch gentle.  


She didn’t just yank the medical tape off. She rolled her finger over it gently, letting it catch on her flesh instead of scraping at his tender bones. Once it caught she peeled it slowly, cautiously, revealing his wound slowly to make sure that the gauze separated from his injuries cleanly.  


“damn.” He whispered.  


There were four grooves in total. The outer two were shallow and already healed, resulting in slight furrows at the edges of his socket. The center two were much deeper, almost all the way through the bone, and ran from above his socket to just above his maw. Calluses had formed, tender and pink. Her finger appeared at the edge of one and he tensed, magic pressure increasing. But her touch was featherlight as she stroked along the callus, testing how porous it was. Even with Papyrus’ concentrated magic it had only advanced the healing process for those wounds by a week; the callus was still quite spongy and filled with magic. It would harden in another week or two if he could manage any decent sleep.  


He glanced at her face. If her brow knit any tighter he was sure those wrinkles would vanish and her brows would just touch. Her fingers lingered at the edge of his socket and for a moment his tension increased-- latex covered fingers scrabbled in his socket, digging, searching, scraping with covered nails-- before she moved away. She peeled the bandage from his ribs with the same tenderness.  


She’d clearly torn open his shirt to get to his ribs, he could see the cloth still connected at the collar but the rest was open. He didn’t mind, this shirt was ruined the minute that Bear tore its claws into him. The bandage revealed that his chest was in far worse condition than he’d thought. His ribs had hairline fractures from the impact, the claws had gone through in three places, forcing her to have to splint his bones. The calluses on these wounds were far fresher, her fingers tested them the same as the one on his skull.  


He winced from discomfort. She was being so gentle but that wound was still in an extremely delicate state. When her eyes darted to his face she pulled her hand back as if he had burned her.  


“Sorry, sorry. I’m gonna have to touch these again. I’ve still got more of Pap’s magic.”  


He nodded, letting her know he understood. He’d have to suffer through more of her touches. Healing Intent or no, she was still a human putting her hands all over him and it made him sick. She crouched beside him. He could just barely make her form out; the sight out of his injured socket was really unfocused, but at least he had it still.  


He watched her as she administered the magic, it made him feel a little in control of the situation if he could observe and let her know when she touched too firmly. He wouldn’t have to, she was careful as she traced his wounds with coated fingers, but he liked the illusion. The magic sparked as it was spread directly onto the calluses at his socket. It fizzed and tingled cooly reminding him of brushing his teeth with extra minty toothpaste.  


He couldn’t help his automatic reaction to her reaching for him. Every time her hand neared his skull he flinched, his magic gathered, his bones tensed. And every time she persisted with gentle strokes of her finger, Intent transferring and calming him a little more.  


She checked the integrity of the splints, making sure the magic hadn’t dampened the wood too much, before applying more. Her Intent couldn’t take the edge off of the pain of her touch, it couldn’t stop the sharp intake of breath, but it helped him power through it. She wanted him to feel better. He wanted to feel better. He caught himself wishing, just a little, that her touch wasn’t so human.  


“hey, dinchya have bandages on befoah?” He could have sworn her fingers had been wrapped the night of the fight. She grinned and held up her hands, wiggling her fleshy appendages.  


“Pap’s healing magic is extremely potent.”  


He must have pulled a face because her hands immediately shot back down, her cheeks and ears tinting pink, eyes downcast.  


“Sorry, didn’t think.”  


“s’aigh’ sweethaht.”  


He noticed a little twitch at the corner of her mouth.  


“sumthin’ funny, dollface?”  


She met his eyelights this time. That joy buzzer had its way with his Soul for a moment before she lowered her gaze, the pink at her ears deepening.  


“Your accent is cute.”  


“cute? cute?!” He pretended to be outraged, to her clear amusement. “brooklyn accents is tough, not cute. m’a big, scary skeleton. i don’ do cute, sweetcheeks.”  


Her chuckle was throaty, her smile bright. His own mouth twitched upwards in response; her smile was nice. Or maybe it was just nice that someone found him funny; his brother showed very little patience for Sans’ particular brand of humor.  


“Sure, Big Bad Skeleton.” Sarcasm dripped from her words. She reached for her phone and pulled up a photo. When had she taken _that_?  


“is ya tryin’ ta blackmail me? waddaya wan’? gold? men?” She giggled and raised her brow at him. “women? name ya price. whateva it takes ta get ya ta delete tha’ picha.”  


She grinned and wiggled the phone.  


“Oh it’s blackmail alright. The priceless kind. The kind you keep for a rainy day.”  


“c’mon doll, ya gonna ruin my rep.”  


He couldn’t help but smile; when was the last time he’d bantered with someone like this? He couldn’t remember. He preferred ‘hit and runs’. Clean breaks, no emotions, no complications. Didn’t leave much room for playful conversation.  


“I’m so glad you’re alive.” He opened his sockets-- _when had he even closed them?_\-- and raised a brow bone at her. “Papyrus would… well I’m sure we can guess what’d he’d do.”  


Sans could imagine. He’d find some way to bring Sans back just to kill him for being weak and making the Great and Terrible Papyrus _worry_.  


“yeah…” He almost reached out to touch her face. She was so close to his ribs, wrapping them individually with gauze to protect the coated cracks as well as the tender calluses.  


“doll, can i ask ya fer a fava?”  


“Depends on the favor.”  


The mood, and therefore her voice, was a lot more somber. The playfulness was lost at the mention of Papyrus.  


“don’ tell my bro abou’ this.”  


“Sans…”  


“jus’...please?”  


She leaned away from him, eyes scouring his expression.  


“Why don’t you want me to tell him? Why do you guys have this fucked up relationship?”  


Fuck. That was a question and a half.  


“f’i tell ya, will ya promise?”  


“Depends.”  


He heaved a sigh and turned from her, weighing his options. He didn’t like to talk much about the Underground. He did better running from his problems. Couldn’t run if you were flapping your maw. Still… the human had helped him, helped Pap, he felt he owed it to her. Especially since Papyrus had left her in the dark.  


“fair ‘nuff.”  


“Sit up. Talk while I patch your shoulder.”  


He braced his forearm against the floor and pushed. The strain on his injuries had another hiss leaving his maw. Those soft hands were suddenly firm, helping push him into a sitting position. His breathing hitched in panic, he didn’t like feeling the strength in those hands. It reminded him of a cage, of needles, of being held down and injected, of someone grabbing at his magic, squeezing too hard, yanking, trying to bring him to--  


“Sans, it’s okay. I’m here.”  


His vision had gone black at the edges and he was panting. When had that happened? He didn’t remember. Her gentle hands rubbed at the back of his ribs, slow circles that calmed his magic just a little.  


“m’alrigh’.” He sounded tired, his voice more gravelly, even to his own ear-holes.  


“I’m gonna remove your shirt, okay?”  


“yeah, kinda no point ta it.” He chuckled.  


The shirt really was in tatters, shredded front and back by those claws, further ripped by a panicked human. Which sucked, because he was kind of fond of that shirt. It was plain but well worn, soft. He heard the metallic slide of scissors through cloth, ending with a hearty ‘snip’ as it forced its way through the thicker fabric at the collar. It fell to his hips, useless.  


“So?” She prompted. He took a deep breath, steadying himself as she removed his bandage in the same fashion she had the others.  


“aigh’, firs’ ya gotta undastan’ tha’ it didn’ staht out bad. we was jus’ babybones when th’barria went up. pap was sweet, fulla wonda an’ good intentions. then the prince an’ his human siblin’ died. broke tha queen, drove’em both mad. they was soulmates, he felt her pain, her hahtache. she fled ta th’ruins an’ he passed a law. kill or be killed. humans were ta be brough’ ta him so’s he could reap their souls.”  


Her motions had slowly stilled, fingers ending their tingly, tender trails along his scapula.  


“ya okay back there?”  


“Huh? Oh, yeah. Think it’ll be okay to leave the bandage off?”  


She snapped a photo and showed him. There were no calluses. The bone had healed; the wounds had been shallow. He grinned.  


“not sure, dollface. neva really been patched up, yanno?”  


“Seriously? What about when you lost your tooth?”  


He chuckled. They were getting off topic but that was okay. He didn’t like talking about the Underground anyways. Besides, everyone asked about his tooth at some point. He’d told countless tales of vicious fights, jealous lovers, and vengeful spouses. The truth was far less exciting and yet, that was what spilled from his maw as he handed her back her phone.  


“believe it or not, i use ta be real bad ‘bout brushin’. one day, walked righ’ inta boss, not payin’ ‘nuff ‘tention, and pop. out comes tha lil’ bastahd. found tha gold’un in tha dump coupla days lata.”  


Her resultant laughter was genuine and it calmed his still agitated magic just a little more. She leaned away from him, hands finally leaving his bones, and he almost whined. Her warm touch had been nice, once he’d gotten past all that nausea.  


“Oh dude, I’d been envisioning, like, some badass fight with Asgore. Like Pap’s eye.”  


Well that got under his skin (heh).  


“yea, well, not all’a us c’n be the great ‘nd terrible papyrus.”  


She’d leaned to the side to read his profile. Her eyebrows did that weird little thing where one flexed into a different position than the other while her eyes became sharp and perceptive, and only one corner of her mouth was lifted in a lopsided grin.  


“I think that’s a good thing.”  


He hated how that look saw right through him, how it seemed to flay his calcified exterior to lay bare the vulnerable marrow.  


“yeah?” _Fuck_, he even sounded weak, like he was looking for her validation. He kind of was; it was nice to have someone think he was okay how he was even though he was the lesser brother.  


“Yeah.” The warmth in her voice washed over him like a pat on the skull. He felt his magic rise to the surface and warm his skull. He could see the reflection of his red glow in her eyes.  


“So, human Souls?” Another gentle prompt. _Damn._  


“our pops was tha royal scientist. i was an intern, free labuh, an’ m’fatha’s firs’ experimen’.”  


Her hands curled into fists and he could see the spark of righteous fury in her eyes. But, like a good cop, she stayed silent and still, gathering evidence to prosecute a Monster long dead.  


“th’day tha law was passed, gasta filed m’teeth inta points.”  


He saw her mouth flop open in pure outrage before she clamped it shut, determined to hear the rest of the story. He felt a warm fuzzy feeling encase his Soul, as if it was being burrito’d in soft blankets.  


“afta a buncha tests on m’soul i was presented ta asgore. gasta told’em i would be his ‘judge’. a tool ta weed out tha threats ta asgore’s rule. get too strong, i get sent out ta kill ya. too weak? same fate. had ta learn a lotta thins ta keep m’self offa asgore’s list. how ta fudge m’stats, hide m’soul.”  


His hand pressed to his sternum, the desire to scratch strong, but the pulse of pain from his fractured ribs reminded him how bad an idea that would be. She took his hand in hers, gentle, offering wave after wave of comfort and that tingle.  


“i took advantage of it, too. tried ta keep pap safe, offa anyone’s radar. didn’t work. gasta snatched up paps while i was out on a call fer asgore. filed his teeth, like mine. i was so pissed, couldn’ see straigh’.”  


His chuckle was dark, angry, like a peal of thunder. She squeezed his bones slightly. The wave of nausea that hit him was weaker than before because he could feel that wonderfully gentle Intent behind her actions.  


“he wanted ta use pap tha way he used me. but pap… he wasn’ like me. too sweet, too _good_ fer th’underground. gasta let’em go. told’em he wasn’ smaht r’strong ‘nuff f’this.” His free hand fisted in his pants. _Fuck_ this still upset him so much.  


“pap wen’ back ta school an’ got teased f’his teeth. bullied fer bein’ less than tha ‘great docta gasta an’ his prodigy th’judge’. an’ not jus’ by kids, adults too. wha’ kinda fucked up monstas make fun of a kid?”  


He growled, the topic clearly upsetting. Once more came that gentle squeeze that made his magic spike and mellow out at the same time.  


“couldn’ jus’ stan’ by an’ do nuthin’, not again. so i took care’a th’ones makin’ funna him. some lived, some didn’.”  


His eyelights were blazing bright, casting crimson light over the front of his skull, accenting the heavy bags beneath his sockets. Then, suddenly, they dimmed.  


“well, me goin’ ‘round, takin’ care’a bizness did’em no favas eithuh. i got stronga, he was seen as so weak he needed someone ta look out fer him. put him on asgore’s radar, which was tha las’ thing i intended.”  


“How’d you get him off of Asgore’s radar?” Her voice was soft. It could almost pass for timid if you didn’t hear the nuances. Underneath was a powerful, raging current of vengeance and impotent rage at events she couldn’t change.  


“los’ a figh’ with’im on purpose. made it look damn convincing if i say so. it did th’trick, tha bullyin’ stopped. hell, i’d even say he became popula, sorta. whole school was scared’a tha kid who took down th’judge.” His sardonic chuckle faded into a weary sigh.”it all wen’ straigh’ ta his skull. he started screaming at me in public, degrading me, beatin’ me. whateva made’im look betta. there was no way i was raisin’ my hand to’em. s’my babybones brutha. so, i took it. maybe i shouldn’a, but, i didn’ think there was any otha option that woulda kept’em safe.”  


Her eyebrows were scrunched in that serious look, the one that meant she was analysing his every word. That warm blanket feeling swept through him again. Tension was leaving his shoulders. He’d never told anyone this…. He met her gaze head on, shuddering as that powerful jolt speared his Soul.  


“it neva stopped. when we got ta tha surface, i though’ things would change but they didn’. monstas were relegated ta a small part’a town. segregated. treated dif’ren’. s’like tha undaground but i got ta look at stars every night.” A small smirk raised the corner of his mouth.  


“s’why i moved out. couldn’ take it anymoah. he was gettin’ friendly with ya, treatin ya like family, an’ I was still a punchin’ bag.”  


It hurt to admit that, to voice feelings that he’d always left bottled up, but he couldn’t stop the word vomit once it had started. She gave him one gentle rub down the entirety of his ribs. The wave of nausea was almost completely drowned in that fuzzy-blanket warmth that followed her touch.  


“That’s a lot to process. I… I can’t even begin to imagine how you felt. And, contrary to how it seems, I’m not a therapist.” Her laugh wasn’t self-depreciating, though her words seemed to be. She stood, looking down at his broken, vulnerable form for a moment, her gaze thoughtful.  


“I won’t tell him. But I think you should. Tell him everything, how you feel, what you’ve done to protect him. It might not change anything but… but it could change everything.”  


He nodded. It was advice he would have given himself but would never have taken. From her? Well, he’d consider it. She’d patched him up, bothered to try and save his life when he wasn’t sure it was worth saving.  


“thanks, jim.”  


She’d moved as if to leave but his words made her stop.  


“You know that’s not my real name right?”  


“it’s what pap’s always called ya.”  


She told him her real name, watched him repeat it, taste it. It made her smile in that bright way. Then she walked away. He struggled to stand and finally observe his surroundings. His shirt fell straight to the ground, barely more than a scrap of black cloth, stained red in spots. Towels, also stained red with coagulated marrow, were in a pile where he’d been laying. On the couch, in his usual spot, was her comforter and pillow. Had she kept watch over him? How long had he been out anyways?  


Her shuffling across the floor was a little less coordinated than before and he turned cautiously. He wasn’t exactly in any shape to fight. In her arms was a pile of blankets, _his_ blankets, a dvd case, and a bottle of liquor.  


“I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink.” She wiggled the bottle, and her brows, playfully. He snagged it from her hand as she passed him.  


“whendya have time ta get this?”  


The label said it was bourbon.  


“You were out for two days, plenty of time for a little grocery shopping.”  


He grinned at her, popped the cap off, and took a swig straight from the bottle. The burn of the liquor warmed him almost as much as the increasingly familiar grin that curved her lips.


	15. Entry 15: Avoiding Suspicion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans gets a little more R&R, but the plot starts thickening just a bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to get this ball rolling again! This one's short but I wanted to give proper consideration to previous events and ease our babies into the next boiling pot.  
I don't think I have any triggers this round, but let me know if I missed anything! (other than Language, this is Underfell, Sans has a potty mouth, it's just part of his charm)

“--jumping around all nimbly bimbly, from tree to tree?!”  


Sans’ laughter is low and warm, his phalanges cover his skull, and he’s doubled over. You could swear you see tears-- actual red, glowing, magical tears-- in the corners of his sockets.  


“this is summa tha greatest shit i’ve eva seen.”  


His words are almost wheezed out. Warmth fills your chest, even more intense now than before. He’s healing quickly; his socket is scarred over, though his ribs still need the patch. He’s wearing a loose muscle shirt, made that much funnier by the fact he’s just bones, and all those tattoos you’d only glimpsed before were on display. When you’d patched him up you hadn’t cared to really look at them. They were etched deep into bone, from the radius of his right arm, up to his scapula, disappearing beneath the black fabric. It was a black reminder of just how much he’d been through, how much he _continues_ to go through, and yet, here he sits, laughing his ass off at one of your ‘comedy classics’; movies you felt were the epitome of stupid fun and were desperately needed when on so dark a case.  


“Well do you see me eating mice?!?!?”  


More laughter, just a hair louder. You knew the movie by heart; you were using it as a distraction from the staggering amount of paperwork you had-- who knew there were sixteen different fucking forms to fill out for a work related accident?-- so you were mostly just watching Sans’ expressions. Papyrus claims to hate your movies, says they’re crude and simple, though you’ve seen his sharp mouth twitch into a smile when you watched them together. Yet, Sans’ blatant joy at the same content hits you harder than Papyrus’ little smirk.  


“Not so funny meow, is it?”  


He finally falls over onto the armrest of the couch, his laughter a mere wheeze of air, tears trailing down his skull, his smile so wide you’re certain it’ll crack the bone.  


“doll, ha-have ya ever done su-sumthin’ like tha?”  


His eyelights were on you and you were acutely aware of the tingle that shot down your spine.  


“Nah. I wish, though. There’s no way Boss would go for any of these shenanigans.”  


“he’s always been a bit ova stickla fer th’rules…”  


Oh there goes the mood, deflated by your partner’s constant prickly demeanor. You loved Pap, without question, and you knew Sans did too, but no one sucked the childish glee out of the atmosphere faster.  


“Yeah… there was one time though.” His eyelights brighten, looking like a couple of Christmas lights in his sockets. It’s _really_ cute. “He and I didn’t get along with another pair in the precinct. They’re kinda dicks. They weren’t bad guys, they didn’t like… cover up crimes or do anything illegal or nothin’. Just.. they talked to Pap in a certain way I didn’t like. Now, Pap and I had been partners maybe… three months? Yeah, I think it was three months. Anyways, he’d put a stop to my pranking--”  


“Ya use ta prank?”  


“Oh all the time! I put whipped cream in Pap’s shoes, whoopie cushions in the couch pillows, swapped his toothpaste with glue--”  


His eyelights were so bright at this point they looked like little flames in his sockets. It was kind of beautiful.  


“whoopie cushions?”  


“Yeah! Fuckin’ classics, amiright?”  


His emphatic nodding and giggling--_giggling!!_\-- is enough to make your mouth split into the widest smile you think it’s been able to manage in decades.  


“we should do shit ta his closet while he’s gone!”  


“Like what?”  


His roguish smile sends a shiver down your spine.  


“i’m thinkin’ puttin some itchin’ powda in his socks.”  


“Oooh, we could sew his pant legs closed!”  


“stuff a squeaka in his pillow.”  


“Put peanut butter in hi--”  


Your generic ringer cuts through your words, sending the puckish atmosphere careening to the ground. The muscles across your shoulder and neck wind tighter and tighter as you lift the sleek black device and swipe your thumb across the screen.  


“Yes?”  


“That was majorly fuckin’ stupid.” His admonishment has you wincing. You should have figured this would come. When Sans collapsed you’d forgotten about the cameras, about your rental, about the witnesses; there had been nothing but the dying skeleton in the center of the collapsing arena.  


“I’m...aware.”  


Sans’ eyelights are dim and wary. You can’t blame him; he can probably hear your contact on the other end.  


“Are ya!? Cuz it doesn’t look like it. It looks a whole helluva lot like your brain went out the fuckin’ window the minute that Monster went down!”  


You don’t have any defense for that. You pinch the bridge of your nose and close your eyes against the impending tongue lashing.  


“You’re lucky that I’m the only one who sees it that way.”  


“What?”  


“I convinced the higher ups you were just protecting an investment. See, that building collapsed. He took out all of the support beams, it crumbled like a damn gingerbread house.”  


“It did?”  


“Yeah. He’s strong, strongest fighter they’ve seen in awhile. Told’em you put a lot of time and money into breaking and training, that it makes sense you’d wanna take care of him a little. Kinda like how a dog fighter takes care of their meanest dog. So they’re givin’ ya another chance.”  


You leaned over the coffee table, scrabbling for your notepad. It was hidden under a bag of chips and a pack of cookies. Crimson lights followed your movements; you felt them heating your skin, burning holes as they followed your hands and profile.  


“When?”  


Your hand shook as it held the pen above the paper. Second chances weren’t given often by crime lords.  


“Two weeks from now.”  


That wasn’t a lot of time. You yanked out the sheet that had your calendar on it.  


“Be exact.”  


“Two weeks from Thursday.”  


That gave you sixteen days. That wasn’t much.  


“And you’re sure they’re not mad?”  


“Absolutely.”  


He sounded shaky. He sniffed, something shuffled on the other end of the phone. You tapped your pen against your notebook. Could you really trust this? He’d never failed you before....  


“Alright. Thanks, Nico.”  


“Yeah, yeah. You owe me, Jim.”  


“I know.”  


You hung up, setting your cell phone to the side. The goofy bullshit on the television did nothing to lighten the mood. His words were heavy; debts weren’t something you or Nico took lightly. Sans reached over and gently touched your fist. The contact was startling and electrifying. Your eyes jumped to his skull. It was flushed, his lights small and jittery, his touch light. He looked on the verge of a break down.  


“ev’rythin’ aight?”  


“Yeah. Yeah. Everything’s… everything’s fine.”  


He didn’t seem like he bought it but his hand returned to his lap. After a few deep breaths, he seemed a little less red, his lights a little closer to normal.  


“I got a date for your next fight.”  


His lights shrunk again. Bile climbed up your esophagus.  


“When?”  


“Two weeks.”  


“Shit.”  


Shit was right. You reached over to pat his broad scapula but pulled back before your hand crossed more than half the distance. He’d been having to put up with your touch since he was injured, and the fact he’d voluntarily touched you was clearly some progress, but you didn’t want to push him. Especially not when you were always the bearer of bad news.  


“Yeah. I’ll get more details in a few days.”  


That was usually how Nico worked; he’d notify you of the date of the fight, and after two or three days, he’d have details for you. You weren’t sure how his mysterious chain of command worked but apparently communications were closely watched. They made sure to not divulge too many details in a small amount of time for fear of it leaking; they were somehow aware that most investigative stake-outs only lasted one or two days and timed their dispersal of information accordingly.  


Sans eyelights were dim. This last fight was just one in a long line of traumas but it was still so fresh; he’d be given no real time to deal with his guilt and grief. He tried to brush it off, to act like he wasn’t all that bothered by the fighting, but it was just that: an act. You’d tried to sleep in your room with your door open, but he’d wake multiple times in the middle of the night, screaming, grasping at his socket and chest. He’d flinched when you’d watched Without a Paddle and that bear carried off Seth Green. Any movement that was too quick, and just outside of his eyesight, had him whipping around, eyes blazing and posture tense.  


“I’m sorry, big guy.”  


“don’ worry ‘bout it, sweethaht. nuthin’ ya can do ‘bout it now.”  


You hated that; you had little to no control over a situation Papyrus had put you in. He even had the balls to not even tell you _why_ he’d made this deal and essentially trapped his brother in an endless cycle of death and abuse again. Every time you’d ask he’d just ‘nyeh’, obviously uncomfortable, and distract you with some technical error in your reports. You let him do it because you’d learned long ago not to push someone before they were ready but you were at your wit’s end with this: Sans’ shrunken eyelights every night, the way he reached for you of all people, desperate for some kind of non-violent touch after his nightmares, was breaking your heart. You’d have to be blind to not see how he was borderline sick whenever you made contact but he had _no one else_. The other Monsters were scared of him, the female just wanted to rut with him again-- which was apparently against his rules-- and Papyrus was still out on his special little mission. It made your chest ache.  


“Still… I don’t like that you have to do this.”  


“ya know, yer real gentle ta be in this kind’a work.”  


You chuckled. You’d heard that before too.  


“Yeah, well, I don’t have the brains to be a doctor. Don’t have the temperament to be a social worker. So, a cop is the next best thing.”  


“i think ya’d make a good social worker.”  


“Nah, I’ve got a record. It’s sealed, but doesn't mean employers don’t look.”  


Oops. His eyelights seemed too focused on you now. You looked down at your lap and twisted your fingers in the band of your sock.  


“recahd? you? i don’ see it, sweethaht.”  


“I’m full of surprises.”  


“clearly.”  


His black velvet voice is full of mirth and you smirk as you look at him through your lashes. It’s almost flirty, but mostly, it’s comfortable. Accepting. He won’t push you to talk about your past even though you’d pushed him before. You bit your lip for a moment, rolling the soft flesh between your teeth before deciding to keep quiet. Your past should stay that, your past. His red eyelights were brilliant and burning. You shifted in your seat.  


“Is it okay if we don’t talk about it?”  


“sure sweetcheeks. not gonna push ya b’foah ya ready.”  


Guilt made a warm bed in your gut. He was okay with the uneven exchange of information. You could excuse it with the knowledge that his past had been necessary. How else were you going to justify withholding information or outright lying to your partner of seven years? Secrets could kill your relationship but if you had a good reason, or if you put on a little pressure so that Sans came clean to Pap sooner rather than later, he might forgive you. You couldn’t afford to lose his trust. But that bed was still made, bile still burned your throat, and your vocal cords tied themselves up in knots trying to get the words out against your will.  


“so, yous was serious abou’ tha’ prankin’?”  


A puckish grin curves your mouth.  


“Absolutely. Be my partner in crime?”  


His laughter almost kicks the guilt from it’s new home. It’s boisterous and deep and warm. How does he laugh like that with everything he’s been through?  


“fuckin’ hell doll, i’d be honahd ta be ya pahtna.”  


His tone was so serious it was like he was accepting a marriage proposal. It made your heart do a funny little flip. You don’t shake on it, you still don’t want to push him, but the matching grins on your faces is good enough. A comfortable silence falls over you as you watch the movie, although it doesn’t last as his chuckles and giggles-- you still can’t get over the sight and sound of that big, edgy skeleton, with his spiked collar, shark teeth, impressive claws, hefty gold chain and biker boots, giggling like a child-- breaks it. It makes you feel completely jazzed, those _adorable_ little fucking giggles.  


“so.. heh heh heh.. which one’a heh these idiots is ya fav’rite?”  


“Oh, Mac, hands down.”  


“yeah?”  


“He’s the most uninhibited and hilarious. Wait ‘till ya get to the bulletproof cup.”  


“bullet proof cup?”  


The confusion that wrinkles his skull is almost as cute as his giggling. You just answer with a grin and gesture to the television with your eyes. He reads your meaning and settles back into the couch.  


“yeesh, fahva’s a dickhead.”  


You almost spit out your pop, laughter causing it to shoot up your nose and damn did that burn. You choked it back, hand waving at your mouth as you struggled with your bodily functions.  


“Th-that’s one way to pu-put it.” Your laughter had you shaking.  


“howzit funny? he’s a shit. his jokes ain’t even in tha ball pahk a’funny.”  


“That’s the whole point of his character. I mean, doesn’t everyone know someone like that?”  


He leans back, the couch groaning with the movement of his bulk, considering your words. His head even tilts to the side as he thinks, his heavy spiked collar clinking against his ribs. Was that for The Aesthetic ™ or was it a sex thing?  


“ya know, i think i did know a guy like tha’. real pain in tha coccyx.”  


A snort of laughter shoots out of your mouth before you can slap your hand over it.  


“wha’s so funny, doll?”  


His brilliant eyelights are warm and mischievous.  


“Coccyx?”  


“well i ain’t got an ass.”  


The mental image of a skeleton with protruding ass cheeks, and nothing else, has you going red trying to stifle more laughter. It’s just so outrageous. His smile sharpens, reminding you of a shark, and not just because of his teeth.  


“could always make one a’course.”  


“You can make an ass?!”  


The quirk of his brow bone and the curve of his smile tell you all you need to know. You bounce on the couch, hand and arm waving in a ‘hurry up’ motion. He eases himself off the couch, movements relaxed and slow, trying to grate on your patience. You’ve got that in spades, so all it does is prompt your eyebrows to shoot up in challenge. You’ll wait all day to see that ridiculousness.  


He stands and red smoke coalesces from his blazing lights. Crimson lights a path down his spine, glowing through his dark shirt, until it settles in his shorts. He turns to the side to show you his ‘butt’. It’s plump and exaggerated and glowing. He strikes a pose that's just the right kind of ridiculous to send you into a fit of howling laughs. His velvety chuckle joins you and your combined noise covers the buzz of your cell phone.


	16. Entry 16: Officer Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans' good time is interrupted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger Warning**: Violence, Blood, abuse (sexual and physical)  
Most of these triggers happen in Sans' nightmare, but still wanted to warn you guys. NEARLY 3K VIEWS AND ALMOST 300 KUDOS OMG WHAT? I FEEL SO UNWORTHY AND SO HAPPY!!!! YOU GUYS ARE AMAZING AND WONDERFUL AND I LOVE YOU!  
Also, I'm sorry. Not.

The pressure is insane. His bones feel ready to burst. There’s nothing but that oppressive, cold Void all around him. The distant rumble of thunder is ominous and steadily growing closer.  


Closer.  


Louder.  


Hot air wafts across his neck and the rumble vibrates his bones.  


Raging eyes. Flashing claws.  


He’s thrown back, pain exploding across his ribs.  


Dust suddenly coats his bones, fills his nasal cavity. He can taste it, chalky and bitter.  


He swings wildly, but it’s too dark, and doesn’t connect with anything. The rumbling is distant again.  


Instead, so close, there’s laughter. Painfully familiar laughter.  


_NYEH HEH HEH HEH_  


The pain that lances through his sternum is old and fresh. Sharp and achy. Electric and dull. The bone spear digs like a toothpick between teeth. The laughter fills his auditory canals, it’s all he can hear.  


His limbs are useless and heavy. He can’t fight, he won’t, he shouldn’t. This is what he deserves.  


Coppery marrow takes the place of Dust.  


The growls of the Canine Elite Force mix with that laugh, echoing in the darkness.  


Dulled claws and even duller teeth gnaw at his ribs.  


Magic and marrow fills the air, a tang of cherry and copper.  


Each bite scrapes and--  


**“Shhhh shhh, I’m here, I’m here.”**  


They’re pulling, threatening to snap the thick calcium, tongues slathering his--  


**“You’re okay. I’m--”**  


Yanking, pulling, dragging. He doesn’t want to go. He tries to dig his claws into the ground, but he’s scrambling, sliding, there’s no friction. No resistance. Just the empty Void.  


**“Big guy? Sans? Come on--”**  


His arms are pinned, his legs, strapped. Latex snaps, fills the air with its false sterility. Burning. The fire in his marrow is unquenchable.  


**“Shhhhh I’ve got you.”**  


The scalpels are sharp, so, so sharp. They pinch at first, then they glide and burn.  


The hands are everywhere, blank, no transfer of Intent or heat through the gloves. Just firm, unmoveable, inflexible--  


**Soft. So soft. Silky almost, as they glide over his skull, soothing, calming.**  


They can’t force his Soul out. But they’re trying. They’re injecting him. His joints ache. Burn. The magic that’s solidified at his pelvis aches and burns. They inject there too. It burns worse. Fire licks his bones, sears through his very Soul. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts it hurtsithurtsithurtsit--  


**Thunderstorms. Flowers. Freedom. Soft laughter, softer hands.**  


**“--big guy, calm down. I’ve got you. I’m here. Breathe. Shhhh. Just breathe.”**  


Meaty hands, fleshy bodies with too much give, press him down. His magic flares, trapped, the dampeners in the room keeping him from being able to do more than intimidate. He feels it spiking, sees it leave in curling puffs of red smoke from his maw. There are six pairs of squishy eyes, eyes filled with malice, hands gripping and twisting his bones with the hope he’ll snap beneath them.  


The click of dress shoes, shiny and black, precede a man in a suit. His laughter is colder than Boss’ and the needle in his hand is worse than the one the ‘scientists’ used. He shoves it into Sans’ bones, thumb slamming down on the plunger. It doesn’t burn. It’s cold, it’s numbing, like the Void.  


**“You’re hurting yourself, stop. Sans, please, jus—”**

His sockets finally snap open. Only darkness greets him. Panic, sharp and metallic, fills his mouth, mind, and magic. It spikes against his bones, putting intense pressure on his sternum and vertebrae. The tiny threads that hold his bones together wind tighter. It was real. It was real. Real and painful and--  


“Shhhh.”  


And she was real. Her hands, so gentle, are wound around his carpals, keeping him from clawing at his injuries. Marrow stains his claws and he feels sore. Battered. There’s something rattling, like hundreds of tools clanging in a duffel bag.  


“That’s better.”  


Her voice is soft, soothing. He finally turned his head to look at her face. She was kneeling by the couch, blanket still wound around half of her body, the pillow beneath her knees. She slept on the floor by him again. He didn’t have it in him to be embarrassed this time.  


He couldn’t pretend he was okay. He was tired, emotionally and physically. He couldn’t say it was alright, just old memories. It was so much more. He felt broken. He felt used. Dirty. A grotesque amalgam of sin and hatred. What was even holding him together anymore? There’s a sound, like someone gasping for air, shuddering and shaking, filling the black silence. His vision dims at the edges, zeroing in on her face.  


“Shit, dude.”  


Her voice cracks, her face crumples, and then her arms wind around his neck, bringing his skull to her shoulder. Then it dawns on him that the shaking is him, the rattling is him, the gasping is his sobbing. Cool tears track down his cheeks, wetting her night shirt. It’s one of the funny ones, with the cat hanging from a branch. His hand bunches up the fabric, right where it says ‘hang in there, baby’. He wants to trap the words, bring them to life with magic, imbue his pathetic body with its strength.  


But it’s just a wish. It doesn’t stop the shaking, the clattering of his bones, the raspy sobs and icy tears trailing down his overheated bones. He sounds hoarse, like he’s been screaming. Her soft shushing can barely be heard over his racket, even though her mouth is by his ear hole. Her hands are gentle on his spine and skull, sending that blessed Intent, soothing his frazzled magic.  


She coos praise, and slowly rocks back and forth, her fingers stroking overheated bones. He could feel her patience, that she wouldn’t leave until he asked. It was so easy with her, to cry. He liked to hide this weakness, even so many years on the surface hadn’t been enough to completely break him of that, but the way she just accepted, encouraged almost, his fragility, had him letting go.  


He cried more than he had in his entire life. He cried so much he was fairly sure that there would be permanent red stained divots in his skull, trailing from socket to mandible. She never let go, never stopped her gentle rocking. She did stop shushing him, resigning herself to just stroking the back of his skull and the few vertebrae that protruded from his shirt’s collar.  


Her skin is warm and the hand cradling his skull is gentle but…  


Under her Intent to comfort he gets a wisp of something she’s trying to suppress. Something dark and sad. He can feel every breath she takes, the way it hitches slightly before evening out, her shoulder shifting up and down slowly. His own breathing is erratic but he’s trying to match hers, focused on that swirl of smothered emotions, that little hitch, more than he was on his own terror. When his breathing is finally even and slow, she stops touching him, but doesn’t force him to move.  


“Better?”  


“a bit, yeah.”  


“Want me to put on a movie?”  


“nah, ‘s’okay doll.”  


“Think you can get back to sleep?”  


“....no.” His monsters lingered a little too close.  


“Well, what would help?”  


He straightens up, wiping at his skull with the neck of his shirt. He can see that dark swirl in her eyes, lingering in the shadows.  


“don’ worry bout it sweethaht.”  


Her mouth thinned into a stubborn little line. He could almost chuckle at that; it was cute.  


“s’not my firs’ go ‘round wit’ nightmares.”  


Her brow wrinkles and little lines form near the corners of her mouth. She’s almost frowning but not quite. That dark thing grows and makes her eyes a little glassy. It’s surprising how expressive she is for a human. _Flat eyes, no expressions, blank, just like their—_  


“What do you usually do to help you after?”  


Was it his imagination or did her voice waver a little? His lights focus on her face. Should he admit what he does after a nightmare? She probably wouldn’t be able to get it for him on short notice anyways so he just shrugs.  


“said don’ worry ‘bout it. m’a grown monsta, m’not ‘fraid a’no nightmare.”  


The little grin and quirk of her eyebrow lets him know she doesn’t believe him but will humor him. His hand shakes but he manages to poke her cheek without feeling completely disgusting. The flesh gives under his phalanx and claw, dimpling under the calcified surface, until he felt her teeth. Strange, the jittery sensation, that works its way up his bone, burying itself in his magic. Whether or not he likes it, he’s not sure. The way the flesh returns to its normal state when he removes the pressure is a little unnerving. It’s so human, the rebounding flesh, and it butts up against his concept of _her_. Who she is doesn’t pair up with his notion of _human._  


Her eyes light up at the touch, chasing away any lingering darkness, and keeping him from falling into an existential crisis. That little jitter wormed its way through his magic and marrow, making his phalanx twitch. Strangely enough, he wanted to poke her again, just to watch her eyes light up.  


“Hey, why does Dr.Pepper come in a bottle?”  


_What the fuck?_ He tilted his head, brow raised; where was she going with this?  


“iono, why?”  


“Because his wife is dead.”  


Holy shit... _holy shit!_ Laughter shoots from his maw like a pressurized projectile. He hadn’t expected that. Puns were fun, pranks were great, but jokes like _that_...  


The grin that curved his mouth could put a shark’s to shame, pointed teeth proudly on display and eyelights smoldering with childish glee.  


“th-that was heh heh, a heh, a good one, sweethaht.” He struggled to compliment her on her little surprise joke, choking on giggles.  


“Yeah? You’ll love this one then,” her little grin widened, “what do you call a cheap circumcision?”  


“wha?”  


“A rip-off.”  


He winced in sympathy even as giggles erupted from his mouth.  


“arigh’, arigh’, i got one.” He made a little coughing noise to clear the giggles from his system. “how is life like toilet papuh?”  


“How?” Her mouth was already curved into a grin and the skin at the corners of her eyes had already crinkled in anticipation of his punchline.  


“ya eitha on a roll or takin’ shit from someone.”  


Her laugh is nice, like, really nice. His grin widens at having someone finally laugh at his jokes. Most people, humans in particular, tend to take offense. Then again, that was one of his tamer jokes.  


“wha’s tha hardes’ paht of eatin’ a veg’table?”  


She shrugs, anticipatory smile already in place.  


“tha wheelchauh.”  


Her eyes widen and for a split second he knows he’s gone too far, that she’s just like everyone else. And then she laughs. Not the nice little chuckle from earlier, but a full laugh, one that comes from the depths of her stomach. She falls back among the blankets, arm over her eyes. When it peters out to little giggles, she removes her hand to reveal glassy eyes.  


“I’m going to Hell for laughing at that.” She’s still giggling.  


“where ya think i’m goin’ fer tellin’ it?” His grin is back and a warm blanket is wrapped around his Soul.  


“so, know what the lepuh said ta th’prostitute?”  


“Wh-what?” She forced out between giggles.  


“keep tha tip.”  


Her laughter forced tears to gather in the corner of her eyes. Her hand pressed beneath her breasts an indication of pain, one that he mimicked as his laughter began to make his brutalized ribs ache. He’d gotten in some good laughs lately, thanks to all those goofy fucking movies, but there was just something incredibly theraputic about laughing after a nightmare. Eventually their combined chuckles died out, leaving a comfortable silence.  


“You know, I haven’t met many people with the same appreciation for dark shit.”  


Heh, figures. He didn’t have to know her long to know she couldn’t stand the silence, even the comfortable ones.  


“yeah, well, when ya’ve lived through summa tha shit i have, ya gotta laugh yanno? if ya don’ ya feel like… like it’s gonna get ta be too much an’--”  


“And you’ll unravel at the seams.”  


Surprised, he peeked over the couch. Her eyes were far more somber than they had any right to be. When her gaze collided with his, her mouth did this little thing that wasn’t quite a smile but not quite a frown either.  


“I work a lot of cases, sometimes collabing with departments like the SVU or Homicide. It’s never pretty.”  


He wants to press for more, to know what she had seen that darkened those impossibly bright eyes, but refrains. It’d be like asking him about specifics about his life Underground. He’d tell her, if she absolutely needed them for something important, like lying to Papyrus, but he wasn’t going to be happy about it and he definitely wouldn’t answer those kinds of questions if it was just to satisfy human curiosity.  


“I heard a good joke on one of those cases, though. An EMT--”  


_‘Cause I’m a boss ass bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch, bit_\--  


She leapt up and snatched her phone from the coffee table, brow furrowed. Her thumb trembled as she swiped it open and held it to her ear.  


“Pap?”  


_That was Papyrus’ ringtone?_ He wanted to snicker and tease his brother about it but the look on her face stopped him. The grotesque pink flush that had spanned most of her face was gone and in its place a ghostly pallor that could rival the whiteness of his bones.  


“I’ll be there.”  


There was a pause, the other person was talking and they were too quiet for him to hear.  


“I don’t care, I’ll be there.”  


Her eyes shot to him after a moment, expression harder than he’d ever seen it. Even when she was acting like his owner there was still an air of gentleness about her. In this moment it was gone and tension ratcheted up in his marrow.  


“Sure, I’ll bring him. Be there in thirty.”  


She hung up and rushed to her room, leaving him a confused lump on the couch. It didn’t take her long to reappear, in something he’d not seen in over a year. That gunmetal and blue leather jacket looked the same as it did a year ago. Nostalgia filled his ribs; how long had it been since he’d donned his own leather to race? It felt like decades.  


“Get changed.”  


Her tone brooked no question. He left her as she patted down the pockets of her jacket, searching for something. He covered himself in his oldest clothes, seeking comfort. There was an edge in her voice, a sharpness in her expression, that settled wrong in his Soul. Something was wrong. He popped back into the room to find her now also wearing fingerless driving gloves.  


“Alright, here’s the plan. You’re gonna do that teleporting thing with me, back to the apartment. Then we’re taking my car to the hospital.”  


“hospital?!”  


It didn’t take a genius to do the math.  


“Yup.”  


“how bad?”  


“Toriel didn’t say. But they texted me from his phone and then called me. If he’s not reaching out to me personally…”  


Knuckles popped obscenely, leather creaked, and her mouth thinned into a line. A shudder ran down his spine; he felt genuine fear, but not for the human in front of him. No. She was _Jim_ and she wouldn’t hurt him. No, he felt afraid for whatever stood between her and Papyrus.


	17. Entry 17: Picking Up the Scent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You rush to see your buddy and make some surprising demands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leading into the meat and potatoes of bad stuff my lovelies! Next chapter was predicted by PotatoBastard. :D It'll preemptively make up for the crap I'm gonna have you do in the following one. It's 'bout to get a bit murky, buckle up for feels and violence!

_“I AM THE CAPTAIN OF THE ROYAL GUARD AND YOU--”  
_

_“Were.”  
_

_“E-EXCUSE ME?”  
_

_“You were the Captain. The Royal Guard was dissolved over a year ago.”  
_

_“....SEMANTICS.”  
_

_“Look, Papyrus, if you want to go further than a beat-cop, you’re going to have to live by semantics.”_  


Shit. Tears were burning your eyes. As you swiped at them with the fingers of one hand, your others flicked the blinker on. The Mustang’s engine roared as you merged onto the interstate. Mercy of New Ebbot Hospital was on the other side of the city and like any big city, it was a conglomerate of small neighborhoods and districts, clinging together for convenience. The speed limit sign said 70, your speedometer said 92. Neither of those numbers was quite high enough for your liking so you depressed the pedal further.  


A glance to the side revealed why Sans was so silent; he was trembling. Reaching out to him would only exacerbate his panic and it hurt. The pain in your chest radiated down to your stomach, which was happily tying itself into knots. It felt like, with one phone call, all of the progress you two had made was thrown out of the window.  


_You’re a special kind of monster. He would have found out sooner or later. Papyrus did._  


Leather creaks as your grip on the steering wheel becomes painful. Teeth grind together, joints protest the pressure muscle and bone put on them, and hatred, molten hot, surges through your veins in place of blood.  


_“Papyrus?!”  
_

_“It’s Fine.”  
_

_“It’s not fucking fine!!!”  
_

_“Language.”  
_

_“Are you serious right now? Your skull is a damn mess! Is that… that’s blood?!”  
_

_“Skeletons Don’t Bleed. It’s Marrow And It’s Fine, Jim.”  
_

_“Papyrus Aster, if you don’t tell me--”  
_

_“WHY DOES IT EVEN MATTER?! THEY’RE HUMAN! I’M JUST...I’m Just A Monster. What Happens To Me Doesn’t Matter.”  
_

_“Don’t ever fucking say that to me again, or I swear to every deity there is, I’ll shred your goddamn teddy bear.”  
_

_“You Wouldn’t!”  
_

_“I fucking would.”  
_

_“Doomfanger Is Innocent In All This.”  
_

_“War has casualties. Now tell me. Who?”_  


Awesome, a slow driver in the left lane. A growl leaves your mouth before you can stop it. Sans shudders and slumps closer to his door. You purposely linger for a second in their lane as you pass, nearly clipping their bumper, surely making them uncomfortable. They swerve to the far left, hugging the other line. Good. Your knuckles pop from the pressure and you have to readjust your grip. The engine’s roar pitches higher, so you shift up a gear.  


_“JIM IS THAT BLOOD?!?!”  
_

_“Huh? Oh, yeah. Not mine. Don’t worry.”  
_

_“Because That’s Exactly What You Should Say To A Cop. JIM, GET BACK HERE!”  
_

_“Gotta wash off the blood, Boss.”  
_

_“WHO’S BLOOD---  
_

_“You Shouldn’t Ha---  
_

_“FAMILY?”  
_

_“Yeah.”  
_

_“JIM---  
_

_“You’re The Craziest Human I’ve Ever Met.”_  


120\. Still not fast enough. Lights were blurs, other cars looked like they were driving backwards. It wasn’t enough. Your foot pressed down, the slim pedal getting closer and closer to the floor. 150. 180. Whiny. Shift to fifth. Oooh that beautiful purr. 193. Your foul mood couldn’t stop the quirk of your mouth. Speed was an addiction, something you’d gotten hooked on very early, and it helped drive those pesky memories away.  


As the needle on your speedometer eased itself from one side to the other, Sans relaxed, moving away from the door the closer to 200 the needle got. Your eyebrow twitched; most people, even Papyrus, became uncomfortable when you went twenty over the speed limit, much less when you were nearing three times the limit. It was an interesting response, one you catalogued and tucked into the back of your mind. Mile markers flew by. You were almost there. The city planners had been smarter when designing New Ebbot than most other cities; the interstate had a direct exit for the hospital, allowing EMS services and crazy assholes like yourself to get straight there without having to drive on side streets with their mild speed recommendations.  


You slid from the center lane to the far left and eased off the gas, allowing inertia to reign in the furious engine. Then, like any racer worth her salt, you shifted down in gears. The engine roared, whined, settled into its beautiful rumble, before you repeated again and again. Sans’ golden tooth made an appearance for a moment.  


“was wonderin’ when ya was gonna botha wit’ breakin’. glad ta see i wasn’ puttin’ m’self in amateur hands.”  


“I’m sure even an ameteur knows how to engine break.”  


“you’d be surprised, sweethaht.”  


His rumbling chuckle almost sounded like the purr of your engine and it made your insides squirm and dance.  


“did they tell ya wha’ room pap’s in?”  


“Nope. Probably gonna have to beat it out of some poor nurse.”  


The glance in your direction was wary. He probably thought you meant literally and he wouldn’t be completely wrong. If the staff didn’t cooperate with you, well, you had no compunction about using ‘whatever means necessary’ right now. Finding parking was easy, at least for a hospital. You could chalk it up to it being a Monster hospital; most of their kind don’t often make it this far. You cut the engine and hurry to the door, barely registering that Sans’ was following.  


The staff was surprisingly human and it immediately set you on edge; a hospital specializing in the treatment of injured Monsters being so heavily controlled by humanity didn’t bode well. You scanned for a directory but found nothing posted on a wall. Instead there was a woman at a desk, with a thick black folder tucked into the corner, and a sign taped to the front of the desk. ‘Sign In Here’. You rushed over, noting that she was pointedly ignoring you, a feat since your sneakers and Sans’ heavy biker boots squeaked loudly on the freshly waxed floor.  


Leaning against her desk, being quiet and patient, didn’t work. Not that you expected it to.  


She flipped through the pages of a book. You couldn’t tell if it was a novel or if she was studying.  


A knock on the desk did nothing, either.  


“Excuse me.” You said, with forced politeness.  


Her eyes flickered towards you for a moment but she still didn’t acknowledge you. That anger, bubbling so close to the surface, surged. You rolled your shoulders, neck snapping to the side reflexively in agitation, vertebrae popping. Fine. Two could play this way.  


You slapped your hand down in front of her book, slamming its spine into the desk, and forcing her gaze to you. You glanced pointedly at your hand. Her eyes followed, then widened.  


“W-what can I do for you Detective?”  


“You can start by telling me which floor a skeleton Monster was admitted to.”  


“Ma’am we have quite a few patients here--”  


“How many are skeletons?” Your voice was dripping with false sweetness. Your fingers twitched around your credentials.  


“O-one.”  


“Thought so. Which floor is he on?”  


“Third floor, Detective.”  


“Was that so hard?” You didn’t bother with waiting for her to reply to your sarcasm.  


“elevator?” Sans, somehow so calm, glances at the elevator doors across the room.  


“Only if you feel like waiting to be confined in a metal box with other humans.”  


He shudders and shakes his head in response.  


“nah, can’t handle the _stares_, yanno?” He says, as he pushes open the door to the stairwell with a wiggle of his brow bone. A very unlady-like snort of laughter erupts from you at his punnery.  


“Race ya?”  


The grin that he gives as an answer is pure mischief and it sends a bolt of something through your chest and stomach.  


You don’t bother with a countdown because as soon as you enter the stairwell, he’s off. He’s fast, teleporting to each landing and goading you-- _ya move slower than a moldsmal, ya sure youse a cop? don’ they make ya take fitness tests an’ shit?_\-- to run faster. You’re both terrified and fighting to keep the terror at bay the only way you know how: being absolutely, inappropriately goofy. By the time you slam into the door, you’re panting and he’s sweating slightly, but you both manage to giggle like a couple of kids.  


“Cheater.”  


He just winks, a shit eating grin in place, showing off all those shark teeth.  


A scream cuts into the mood. A nurse had been right by the door when you and Sans had burst through it, both harried, scaring her out of her wits. Apparently she hadn’t heard all the thumping, swearing, and shit-talking.  


Her scream brought several more nurses from the station and other rooms to the hall. They loosely circled you, and while not all of them were human, a majority were. Sans’ tension was palpable, his eyelights shrinking and smoldering like banked coals, dim but ready to spark to life given the right fuel.  


“Excuse me, do you have clearance to be on this floor?”  


The human that stepped forward was clearly the head nurse; her scrubs were a different color and there was an air of authority about her. Normally, nurses were awesome to work with, efficient and forthright. This one had an edge to her tone and something in her eyes that was unsettling. You felt a tug in your shoulder and a twitch in your neck, the ones that usually prophesied your irritated shoulder and neck roll.  


The best you could do, without being antagonistic, was to pull out your badge.  


“I’m looking--”  


She cut you off with “I wasn’t talking to you, ma’am.”  


Her eyes weren’t on you but just over your shoulder. If looks could kill, you were sure Sans’ would at least have been able to maim the bitch. She had the audacity to look smug, arms crossed and brow raised, as if their silence was tantamount to guilt. Your hands fisted and shook; Sans was… he was…  


His warm phalanges wrapped around your wrist, tense and quivering. Warmth bloomed in your chest and gentled the rage.  


“He’s with me and I have clearance to be wherever the Hell I want to be. Now, which room is Papyrus Aster in?” Your tone could still be compared to a razor blade.  


“I’m afraid I can’t allow--”  


You crowded close to her, close enough to smell musty perspiration under her cloying perfume. Papyrus was good at looking like the bad cop but you were good at being the bad cop.  


“Look, I’m having a bit of a bad day and I’m being as nice as I’m capable of right now, but you’re being a belligerent bitch. Now, what I need you to do is point me to the room that Papyrus Aster, an eight foot tall skeleton Monster, is in.” You shifted your jacket as you put your identification away. Her eyes shot to your holster. “Or I’m going to take my bad day out on you.”  


Whatever arrogance she carried withered in the face of your rage, or rather your gun, and she shook slightly as she pointed to the room. The door was closed but you could hear the faint beeping of machines and soft chatter. You gave her a quick, dismissive nod before hurrying to Pap’s room. Sans’ hand was still wrapped around yours. You didn’t want him to remove it.  


“--et the footage, Asgore?”  


“Of course. It’s what--”  


You flung the door open, cutting off the conversation on the other side. Toriel scooped up Frisk, knocking over the chair they’d been sitting in, in her panic. Flames covered the paw she held out in defense of herself and her teenage child. Asgore’s trident was in your face, though he lowered it quickly once he registered that it was just you and Sans.  


Your gaze flicked from the Monster Royalty to your partner. Sans had not even registered the Royal family’s presence. Machines crowded Papyrus’ tall frame, tubes running to his chest and arms, pouring in liquids of various colors. Some of the displays you understood, others made no sense. Sans wandered over to them, his lights small and sharp, his sockets narrowed. The way they jittered in his skull was a lot like the way eyes moved over a page when reading. Perhaps he understood what the machines were for? Hadn’t he mentioned he used to work in a lab?  


“You brought Sans?” Asgore’s surprisingly soft timbre broke your reverie.  


“Of course, your Majesties. Is that a problem?”  


“Oh, no, no. It’s perfect, actually. Toriel?”  


Toriel was fidgety, wringing her paws and casting her red eyes to her husband. He patted her shoulder before gesturing for you to join him outside. She relaxed her hold on her charge, obviously trusting Sans.  


Frisk gave a small, watery smile and wave before the door closed. Asgore turned to you, head hung low, as soon as the door closed.  


“Hit me with the details.”  


He seemed stunned by your immediate lack of decorum. Normally people waited for him to speak. Then again, you weren’t normal. You couldn’t be ‘normal’ and work with Papyrus.  


“He was shot. It was a close call, the bullet grazed his Soul, shattered a few ribs. He’s strong, though, and they expect him to pull through.”  


“Which side?”  


“Excuse me?”  


“Which side was he shot on?”  


“From behind, on the right.”  


“Did you get any CCTV footage?”  


“Yes, the plaza had cameras at every street corner. He insisted on gathering evidence.”  


A grin curved your mouth, despite the situation. Of course Papyrus would demand the surveillance tapes while suffering from an injury.  


“Has anyone else seen this footage? Did another cop get to it before you?”  


“No. Papyrus insisted, before he fell unconscious, that you be the first to look at it.”  


You tapped your hand against your leg, not quite nervous but not calm either. There was something you were missing. Something that Papyrus must have known if he was insisting that you look at the footage first.  


“Did you hire a private security service?”  


“No. We entrusted only the Royal Guard. I know they’re disbanded, but most still come when called.”  


“Alright. Email me that footage.”  


You pulled out your phone, flipping through the various files saved there. Papyrus always emailed you copies of his reports and blind cc’ed you in on emails between himself and the Chief. You hadn’t looked at them lately, too caught up with keeping your cover and worrying over Sans’ mental health.  


“Official lines or--?”  


“Yeah, and send a blind carbon copy to my private email.” You rattled off the address you’d made when you were a teenager, glad for no more than a raised brow on Asgore’s part.  


“Papyrus said you were different when you were on a job.”  


“Huh?” You glanced up from your phone, email open to one of Papyrus’ reports.  


“He said you were the best damn cop he knew, when you were serious.”  


That was high praise coming from your favorite Edgelord.  


“I’m rarely serious.”  


“He said that too.” Asgore almost sounded amused.  


“I’m going to have to take this footage and lie low for a few days. I have a...suspicion, but I don’t want to act on it until I’ve looked at everything. What kind of security can we put on Papyrus?”  


The twinkle in Asgore’s red eyes told you he was catching on to exactly what your suspicion was. Still, he seemed cowed by the implications.  


“Do you think that’s necessary?”  


“Yes. Honestly, I want ‘round the clock surveillance on him. I know that’s not possible but--”  


“What about Sans?”  


Judging by Asgore’s amused expression, you could guess that your face had pulled a stunt when he suggested leaving Sans here. In a hospital. Surrounded by humans. To guard his brother. Your own mind was having trouble putting all of those concepts together without flashing memories of his terrified skull and quivering bones to guilt trip you out of agreeing to it.  


“I… I don’t know if we should leave him here. He’s so… delicate right now.”  


Asgore’s laugh is low and deep, reminding you vaguely of a villain’s laugh.  


“That boy has never been delicate.”  


“Excuse me!? He’s been through Hell in the Underground, Pap’s got a surprising abusive streak, and now he’s fighting Monsters again for the amusement of humans. He’s been through shit I don’t know about and don’t want to think about, how is he not delicate?”  


The twelve foot tall goat Monster had the audacity to laugh, as if you’d told the best joke he’d ever heard. Your hands fisted, for the nth time today, and the muscles in your jaw tightened. Your molars were going to be powder if the day kept up like this.  


“The boy is no victim. You’re treating him like he is. Trust me, if you leave him here with Papyrus, we won’t need any other guards.”  


“I know he’s strong, but--”  


“Put your faith in him.”  


There was something in those red eyes that tempted you to bare your teeth to him.  


“Like you did?” The words are laced with venom. Again, Asgore laughed.  


“What did he tell you?”  


“Told me his dad twisted his hand and pushed him into killing for you. That you gave him orders to kill the weak and strong, whoever would drag down or oppose your regime.”  


The look on the old goat’s face softened, becoming almost wistful, as he stared at a spot just beyond your shoulder.  


“That’s not even a fraction of what occured. You’ll have to wait until Papyrus recovers to hear the rest of that story.”  


“Will I be hearing it from you, or Pap?” You sassed, as you leaned your weight onto one hip, arms crossed.  


Asgore’s amused chuckles were really grating on what little nerves you had left. You didn’t enjoy being left in the dark. It was almost as bad as trusting your victim to take care of your currently comatose partner.  


“Me.”  


You leveled the King of Monsters with a cool gaze. He had changed a lot in the ten years they’d been on the surface, having spent six of those years in a cell as atonement for his crimes Underground. The Asgore from a decade ago would have decimated you for your impudence. Good thing he’d changed.  


The one thing that didn’t seem to change was this: his intense gaze that had the power to convince you that he believed in what he said.  


You tapped your hand on your pants for a moment longer, holding the goat’s gaze. He was being very patient with you and you were being extremely rude. Extenuating circumstances and all that.  


“Alright,” you sighed while moving your gaze to the tiles in front of you. “I’ll leave it to you guys. I don’t want any humans in his room. At all.”  


“I’m sure Sans--”  


“It’s not for Sans’ security. It’s for Pap’s.”  


You shared a look with him and he seemed to understand exactly what you were implying, though he didn’t immediately nod.  


“Not even your boss?”  


“Especially not the Chief.”  


His quirked brow asked for you to explain.  


“Told ya. I have a hunch. Let me work my leads and I’ll get back to you as quick as I can.”  


His nod was as good as a signed agreement.

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Undertale or Underfell, just playing with the characters.


End file.
